From Here to Alternity I: Canon minus A Major
by jennzabelle
Summary: Sam goes missing on Earth in Season Six and the rest of the SGC struggles to find her. They're cooperating with the NID for now but who are the bad guys, really? Spoilers through Paradise Lost.
1. I Spy with my little eye

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate SG-1 or Stargate Atlantis or any of the characters or plots therefrom. Shadowy PTBs like Gekko Film Corp., Double Secret Productions, MGM, Paramount, and SciFi Channel do. Plus others that I can't remember now. I'm just playing with them and I'll put them back just the way I got them, I promise. Mostly. So, um, don't sue, okay?

Summary: Sam vanishes on vacation in mid-Season 6, and her team has to figure out what the heck happened and how/if they can fix it. Her adventures take her beyond anything they imagine or expect. If she were to return four years later, what would she and her friends recognize of each other and their experiences?

Rating: PG-13 for language and some nastiness later

Category: General/Action/Adventure (so far)

Note: I have been a fanfic junky for a while now and I've read quite a bit of material, but this is the first I've written. I haven't intentionally taken anything from any other author, but I've posted some inspiration credits on my profile. If you think something/one is yours, PLEASE let me know. Also, this is the tiplet of the iceburg – I have four years to cover for our intrepid hero(ine)s and there's a whole big honkin' story to come. Eventually.

Feedback: Heck yeah! It's my first fic, and I haven't seen further than Season 5, so please let me know if there are any glaring errors. Constructive criticism is welcomed and I'd love to hear what you think of the story. So review, baybee!

From Here to Alternity: I Spy with My Little Eye…

Stargate Command

Spring 2007

"I spy with my little eye… something gray and cold." The slap of combat boots on concrete echoed through the mostly empty room. "Hey, Rogers! I spy with my little eye –"

"Concrete walls. Would you quit that?" the seated soldier gritted out past his clenched teeth.

The pacer never stopped. Ten steps, pause, about face. Ten steps, pause, about face. Ten steps, pause, about face. Lather, rinse, repeat. "Quit what? I'm not doin' anything."

"I swear to God, Jablon, I'm on the verge of justifiable moronicide here. Sit down and shuddup."

Of course Lieutenant Alex Jablon didn't. Boredom had set in early that morning, and pacing and playing "I Spy" was only slightly above "10,000 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" on the time wasting taxonomy. Plus the annoyance factor for his partner? Always a bonus. Four steps he later took a spectacular tumble and sprawled at his partner's feet. He snapped up to a white-knuckled boxing stance and advanced on Lieutenant Matthew Rogers' immobile form.

"Damnit, Rogers, you tripped me!"

"Self-defense."

"Bull! I'm going crazy stuck in this closet on the shittiest duty Captain Hailey could think of with the most ignorant recruit to ever get into the SGC and the only way I can keep from exploding is to pace. I'm trying to keep myself from strangling you for getting us into this and then you trip me!"

Rogers spun up to stand eye to eye with his enraged co-punishee. His dark brown hair and olive complexion should have made it impossible for a flush of rage to stand out, but Rogers had been at the SGC long enough to know that anything was possible. "ME? Getting us into this was all you, genius, and don't you forget it! And it's gonna be self-defense 'cuz if you don't stop stomping all over this room I'm gonna explode. You'll be a dead man and I'll be stuck in the brig for the rest of my frickin' life!"

Jablon ignored the legalesque argument and went straight for the heart of the tension that had torqued the easy friendship between the two buddies. "This is Not. My. Fault! You were the one whining and moaning that we had nothing to do on our downtime. You were the one that got us kicked out of the infirmary while the rest of the team is stranded there. Cap's got a broken leg and Mitchell's in traction and you're short sheeting the beds? Yeah, they'll be up and around in four to six weeks and where are we supposed to hang out in the meantime?"

"Oh, yeah? Which one of us wanted to go snoop in Captain Hailey's office in the first place?" Rogers' grip on his temper slipped another notch as his blondish ex-linebacker friend glared right back.

"Hey! You were the one who picked up the picture frame and started making comments about the team photos. And it wasn't snooping," he mumbled. "We were just stopping in to say hello and see if any of the scientists needed anything." Jablon blushed as red from embarrassment as anger. So he thought Capt. Jennifer Hailey was cute. That wasn't a crime. At least it hadn't been until yesterday.

"And, you, Mr. Sensitive, you were the one who said it was too bad Major Carter was dead. That's what set Hailey off and you know it." Jablon didn't realize he'd just admitted the intense interest he had in all things Hailey. But Rogers did and it took the tiniest slice off his anger. This would be good for many, many days of torment and they had at least another week stuck here together.

"Yeah, but you were the one who asked about the 'blonde looker' in the middle picture. I can't believe you said that about her legs! I was just trying to set you straight." Jablon snapped at Rogers, who had come to the SGC after Major Carter had… left.

"Fine, so I started it. But you set her off!"

"Fine." Jablon pouted. Hailey was probably still upset with him.

"Fine!" Rogers hated this. He hated to feel like a rookie, and not knowing the story of the late, great Samantha Carter had more than embarrassed him. He felt like there was one more part of the SGC's story that he hadn't even known he didn't know. He was… disappointed.

Jablon hadn't even fully explained before Captain Hailey swooped in and sentenced them to two weeks of the worst duty the mountain had to offer. A fuming silence slowly bled tension off into the super secure storage area. It was no secret why the airmen were piled into the nearly empty isolation room on one of the deepest levels of Cheyenne Mountain. The flat gray sheet of the mirror hung in oddly shaped quiescence on the only non-bare wall. This was the infamous quantum mirror that had taken Dr. Daniel Jackson to an alternate reality that helped him save this world. And sent another Samantha Carter and the late, lamented Major Jay Kawalsky here from a reality that the original SG-1 had, in turn, been able to rescue. General Hammond had ordered it destroyed after that adventure, but some NID minion had gotten word to his bosses before it could actually be carried out. What with politics and power plays, the mirror had been hidden away in Area 51 until it became blatantly obvious that the SGC had the better claim. Some poor shmoe had pulled the duty of guarding this empty piece of naquadah 24/7/52 for the last three and a half years. And now it was their turn.

Jablon sighed. "Look, I know why you said it. And you were right, she was… is… was…" Jablon shook his head and started again. "Major Carter was pretty, and bright and as cool as any member of the original SG-1. Total warrior scientist and all that stuff. I think Colonel O'Neill and Dr. Jackson would head off to Chulak with Teal'c if she were ever declared KIA. And it sucks that nobody really knows what happened to her. Most of us have finally admitted that it's been four years and she's probably never coming back. There's nothing wrong with asking about her picture."

Jablon's pale face shifted from uncomfortable to abjectly miserable. "It's just that Hailey walked in right in time to hear it. Major Carter was like … the patron saint of the tech people. Sgt. Siler spent the first couple months afterwards refusing to fix anything non-crucial because 'Major Carter would come up with a better way'. I think Simmons finally made that bulletin board into a shrine when they did the last dialing computer upgrade. Hell, Rodney McKay all but genuflected before they went off to Atlantis, and you know what he was like."

Rogers snorted sadly. The best thing to come from Atlantis so far was the absence of some of the more colorful personnel.

"You didn't get here until after all the unspoken don't-mention-it rules went down. Some NID guy made a crack about Major Carter when SG-1 went to close down that freaky hybrid cloning lab – long story, it was a year before you came – and it took 10 Marines to pull Teal'c and Hailey and O'Neill off him. One of the guys that held Dr. Jackson back still swears he feels that break in his collarbone every time it rains. It's always been that way for the SG teams – you fight one, you fight all of them – but SG-1 has been here since the very beginning. Dr. Jackson and O'Neill have been here since before the beginning and they'd all been through some serious shit in the six years Major Carter was with them."

"Yeah, I'd heard about the Tok'ra and the particle accelerator and Apophis and all that stuff. I'd even read some of Major Carter's mission reports in training. But I don't get why Hailey was all upset. It wasn't like I'd said anything bad about her. I just wondered who the gorgeous blond with the legs up to here was. Why was that so bad?"

Jablon sighed. Rogers wasn't cruel, he was just a second year recruit who stumbled onto one of the painful pockets of Stargate history. "Okay, I'll tell you what I know if you promise never to mention it on base or within a 100 yards of any member of SG-1 ever again. Deal?"

"Deal." Rogers settled back in his chair and waited for the tale to begin.

"Well, you know about Dr. Jackson's year with the ascended glowy people, right?" Jablon waited for confirmation, then began the tale. "This happened about halfway through that…"


	2. The Great Escape The Ransom of Red Chie...

From Here to Alternity: The Great Escape/The Ransom of Red Chief O'Neill

Season 6: post 'Paradise Lost'

Disclaimer in Chapter 1. Please don't sue. Unless you want my cat. And, you know, the resulting restraining orders. Stupid pet mice. **This has been edited to take out boneheaded mistakes now that I've seen Season Six. **

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Stargate Command

Spring 2003

The Great Escape

General George Hammond, head honcho of the Stargate Command, figured that his week might finally be looking up. SG-1 was about to enjoy some well deserved downtime following Colonel Jack O'Neill's recent unplanned vacation with Harry Maybourne and SG-1's frantic efforts to bring their CO home. The last few weeks had been stressful on everyone, as O'Neill fought vegetable-induced paranoia and hallucinations – and didn't that look great in a report to the Joint Chiefs – on a moon half a galaxy away. The rest of the SGC had bunkered down in offices and labs and hoped that Samantha Carter wouldn't actually disembowel anyone who suggested that rescuing O'Neill was a lost cause.

The 2IC of the entire base was stranded off planet with a known enemy, unlocatable by any means known to Stargate Command. His own 2IC was showing all the mettle one might expect of an officer with her record and a personal friendship with the missing man. And base gossip found verrrry interesting the lengths to which Major Carter pushed herself to rescue him (again). Not to mention the lengths to which she was prepared to drive the scientists under her authority. General George Hammond hadn't drawn a calm breath in weeks.

Truth be told, he'd been concerned with the team dynamics on SG-1 for much longer than a week. Dr. Daniel Jackson had given his life to save the people of Kelowna months ago, and ever since then his remaining team members had been struggling to replace that missing member of their family. Although, and perhaps in part because, SG-1 had jumped directly back into saving the universe after Dr. Jackson's death, the members of SG-1 still mourned his loss in a variety of subtle ways. Not the least of which was Major Carter's passionate devotion to her commanding officer's rescue. Her fierce determination not to lose yet another member of her team had spawned Hammond's latest headache.

Between the search and the speculation, most of the SGC had been wrapped up in SG-1's latest mission for far too long. But that mission was over now that Colonel O'Neill had returned to the SGC. He was gaunt and exhausted, as were the people who had done so much to save him, but he was home. So it was with great relief that General Hammond gave his premier first contact team downtime until Dr. Janet Fraiser cleared O'Neill for further duty.

Privately, Janet assured Hammond that O'Neill wouldn't be cleared under any circumstances for 10 days and they could probably stretch it to two or three weeks if he didn't gain weight back fast enough.

Hammond wondered if she could make it a month.

The conference room was full of the very people General Hammond had been considering as he gave them official notice of their upcoming vacation. The Colonel's debriefing had finally finished and the entire team was grateful that O'Neill was home safe and temporarily free of all medical support.

Hammond even hinted that when Jack got out of the infirmary he should consider taking some time off. As much as he needed. Really.

"So, what's everyone doing with their time off?" Jonas grinned innocently. He was looking forward to tracking a large hurricane system forming in the South Atlantic. He'd learned quickly that discussing The Weather Channel in detail was a good way to get the room to himself, so he didn't volunteer his own plans.

"Oh, well, uh… I'm off to see my brother Mark and his family in San Diego. I was planning to visit soon and I think I'm in the mood for a road trip." Sam smiled triumphantly at her teammates. Her expression clearly said: Let's see a fishing trip top that.

"Indeed. I am also planning to visit family." Teal'c would almost have looked worried if he allowed himself that expression. He walked quickly towards the door, passing Sam on the way out.

"Oh, really. Just gonna hop through the 'gate the minute you get a chance, hunh?" Jack's sour tone followed his retreating team down the hall as they skedaddled out of fishing-trip-invitation distance. The slow and unwary were inevitably found in Minnesota soon thereafter. With the big horkin' mosquitoes. And loons - human and avian.

"And you, Colonel?" Jonas continued, gathering up his papers and heading towards the door.

"Hunh." Jack O'Neill could put a lot of disgust into one syllable. "Doc Fraiser seems to think I'm underweight and need to be in the infirmary 'until further notice'. I'm supposed to spend the next week tied to an infirmary bed sucking down milkshakes and going crazy with boredom. Let the fun begin."

"Hey, I'll come visit you. We can play chess or something." Jonas and Jack made their way past the usual suspects scurrying around Level 28.

Jack was almost genuinely touched. He knew the enforced leisure would drive him and the infirmary staff nuts before the first day was over. Probably the first hour. Or less. "Thanks, Jonas. That's nice of you to offer."

"Oh! I can show you the progress of this great storm system I've been watching…" Jonas wasn't quite wicked enough to actually make Jack watch the weather, but it might buy Janet Fraiser a few hours of good O'Neill behavior. It never hurt to get the woman with the needles on your side.

"Oh, um, Jonas, I don't know. I'm probably, ah, going to be sleeping a lot of the time and –" Jack frantically backpedaled. Maybe he could get one of the newer nurses to slip him a sedative just before Jonas came in. Or as soon as he woke up. Suddenly sleeping for a week looked better and better.

Gen. Hammond smiled to himself as the last two members of SG-1 got into the elevator. Yessiree, things were indeed looking up under his patch of the mountain.

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The Ransom of Red Chief O'Neill

It was the morning of Day 8 of downtime when Jonas answered a request for his presence in the briefing room. He was a little surprised to see General Hammond and Doctor Fraiser in with Colonel O'Neill, but he gave his usual blithe grin and sat down at the table. He cast a questioning glance at a T-shirt-and-jeans clad O'Neill, but the tiny shrug O'Neill sent back meant neither one knew why they were here on their day off.

Jonas just blinked and smiled. He'd been relaxing by re-reading some of Dr. Jackson's oldest journal entries to bone up on some of the odder things SG-1 had encountered before his time, so he didn't mind the interruption. He'd come up with a list of questions for Teal'c and Sam when they got back, but on the whole he was more curious about this impromptu meeting. There had been no alarms or off-world activations, so it must be something here on Earth. He studied the other people at the conference table for clues.

Jack O'Neill was currently on exceptionally good behavior. He'd been ensconced in enforced gourmet leisure for the last week as Janet "Napoleon" Fraiser 'supervised his diet and activity levels' and forced him onto the scale daily. God help her daughter Cassie if she ever went on one of those weird diets women seemed to find so necessary. All Cabbage All the Time. Grapefruit to Lose. Celery Saves the Day. Whatever. She'd have Cassie back up to a healthy weight before you could say 'no thanks, I'm full'.

He just considered himself lucky that he'd gotten out of the little power monger's empire and onto outpatient status yesterday. Nothing quite like escaping just ahead of a pitchfork carrying mob of orderlies to make a man grateful for his mobility. It wouldn't have been half as bad if they could just learn to take a joke.

Jack glanced at the head of the table and did his damnedest to look healthy, well fed and totally in control. The general had intercepted him on his way down to the infirmary and he had yet to submit to the latest round of tests. If Doc Fraiser found out that he was still a little tired and 'off' in the afternoons, he'd be bound, gagged and fed by I.V. before you could say 'medically necessary'.

Meanwhile, Janet Fraiser eyed her erstwhile patient with seven days worth of aggravation. The colonel had been a horrible patient. Beyond his usual. To an extreme degree. The cranky, snarky mini-tantrums had been their usual joy to weather, but O'Neill had gotten bored with verbally harassing the infirmary staff approximately 2 days after he'd been admitted. Probably because Janet had given her staff leave to speak freely whenever they spoke to the Colonel. She reasoned that the respect due a senior officer had to be earned and told Jack as much when he complained that his nurses/victims had started snarking back.

That had apparently been an inadvertent declaration of war on her part. The colonel gave up his verbal frontal assaults and seemed to actually tone down the amount of chaos he fostered. Janet had been surprised as well as pleased. If she'd realized all she had to do to get him to settle down was to let her nurses talk back, she'd have started this years ago. But since Hammond had laughingly backed her up once she explained her plan to keep O'Neill under control, their battle of wills had shifted to a more covert form of resistance on his part.

O'Neill was as canny a strategist in infirmary ambush as in battle. He'd known he was outgunned on his own and sought allies in the other soldiers who were sentenced to time in the petite powerhouse's domain. Two teams had come back from an archaeological mission with a severe but non-threatening rash. Doc Fraiser insisted on keeping them until she knew exactly how it was communicated, which took twice as long as the cure did.

It turned out to be a rare and virulent strain of poison oak that had overgrown the temple they'd been investigating. Two days of calamine lotion and Benadryl later she'd had an infirmary full of restless soldiers. Of course, O'Neill had taken advantage of his new roommates and instigated a new round of "aww-we're-just-having-fun-here" mayhem.

What better way to cause trouble without actually getting himself sentenced to isolation than to stage the Infirmarolympic Games?

Whenever the nurses' backs were turned, the different sides of the infirmary launched into raucous games of Bedpan Basketball, Ace Bandage Bowling, Gauze Toss (for both distance and height of arc), the 5 Bed Water Jug Relay, Tongue Depressor Tennis and Penlight Freeze Tag. O'Neill's side had lost overall to Ferretti's, but the colonel had been caught on security camera demanding a rematch on a couple of the more obscure and creative events.

The nurses probably couldn't have actually gone on strike - they were, after all, federal employees - but the larger ones were eyeing their least favorite patient with enough violence to make Janet sure the next blood she cleaned up would be O'Neill's. Lots of it. She had enough to do without entertaining a forty-mumble manchild with a contagious attitude problem. But she was a doctor and an officer and had sworn an oath to do no harm.

Darnit.

So she ceded this round to Colonel O'Neill when he'd gained back 14 of his 20 missing pounds and put him on outpatient status. She'd bitten her tongue and scheduled his daily weigh-ins opposite the shifts he had most completely alienated. There was no reason for her nurses to suffer. But Jack O'Neill was NOT going to enjoy his next physical. She didn't even realize that her face had shifted into a slit eyed killer grin.

Regardless of her current unhappiness with Jack O'Neill, she reminded herself as he busily polished his halo, she'd put him on medical leave with the proviso that he retain his outpatient status only if he'd weigh in every day and avoid strenuous activity offbase. Since he technically couldn't even catch up on his paperwork while on medical leave, the general wouldn't have called them all in here without a really good reason.

And it better be a damn good reason, too. She'd just managed to avert a full scale dirty tricks campaign on the nurses' part (and whatever O'Neill and the other Infirmarolympians thought, nobody out-pranked staff with easy access to medical records and prescription strength laxatives) by putting most of her staff on epidemiology detail. SG-6 had come back from a treaty signing with a seriously infectious virus that none of them had ever seen before. The latest set of lab results had just finished printing when she'd been paged to the conference room, but the follow up on those tests would have to wait for an hour or so.

Now that Feretti's team, Mathison's team, and The Evil One himself were out of her care she could leave the infirmary for an hour or two at a time and not return to a disaster area. Hopefully.

General Hammond cleared his throat and the whole room shifted its focus. "Gentlemen, Doctor, thank you for coming in on such short notice. Doctor Fraiser, I know that you need to be in the infirmary so I'll try to make this brief. Has anyone here had contact with Major Carter since she left the base a week ago?"


	3. FHtA: Lost You in the Canyon

From Here to Alternity: Lost you in the Canyon

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this chapter. See chapter one for specifics. Please don't sue. Unless you want my great big writer's block – that you could take. **This has been edited to correct boneheaded mistakes now that I've seen Season Six. It's not new.**

(See bottom for AN)

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_Previously in From Here to Alternity: _

_General Hammond cleared his throat and the whole room shifted its focus."Gentlemen, Doctor, thank you for coming in on such short notice. Doctor Fraiser, I know that you need to be in the infirmary so I'll try to make this brief. Has anyone here had contact with Major Carter since she left the base a week ago?"_

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Stargate Command – Spring 2003

Downtime Day 8

General Hammond's question fell into a sudden, shocked silence.

Jack's eyebrows rose in a very Teal'cian gesture as the negatives came from around the conference table. "General, why –"

"Just a minute, Jack, let me finish. Does anyone know _anything_ about Major Carter's itinerary or travel routes? Did she mention any particular timetable for her trip?"

"No, sir, not to me. Sir, what's wrong with Sam?" Janet's observant eyes were clouded with worry for her best friend. Sam had been a little emotional, er… _intense_ while Colonel O'Neill had been missing. And just like the last time Sam busted her ass to rescue him, he'd given a general 'thanks, everybody' to his team without recognizing Sam's tireless efforts. Janet didn't need Sam to spell out how hurt and frustrated she'd been by his behavior. Still, Janet hadn't noted anything that would cause this kind of anxiety in General Hammond.

"None of you? So she could be anywhere on any route between here and California?" Hammond's tension spread throughout the room and infected all his personnel.

"No, sir. What's going on with Carter?" Jack O'Neill demanded as his stomach clenched into a cold knot. He saw concern edging into anxiety on Janet and Jonas' faces and was glad he didn't have a mirror.

Hammond's level voice belied his grim expression. "Colonel O'Neill, Doctor Fraiser, Jonas… I don't want this to become common knowledge around the base, but I spoke with Mark Carter this morning. Major Carter was supposed to be in San Diego late the night before last and she still hasn't arrived." Hammond watched the shock creep onto his officers' faces. Their reaction mirrored his own when he'd heard from the major's brother. "MarkammHammondH hasn't spoken to her since she confirmed her arrival date and she hasn't called in here. I checked with her department and she hasn't called anyone about projects that they're monitoring for her. It's highly unusual for her to be out of communication this long even while on vacation."

Jonas piped up. "How long has it been exactly since Sam's brother talked to her?"

"It's been a week since _anyone_ has had contact with her." Hammond admitted.

The colonel's face paled as Hammond's implication sank in. "Waitaminute! Lemme get this straight. Sir, you're saying that Carter's missing? And nobody noticed for a _week_!" Jack strove valiantly to keep the dismay out of his voice, but he had recent unpleasant knowledge of what being missing could mean.

"Not precisely, Colonel. The last time anyone had _contact_ with Major Carter was 6 days ago when she called her brother from Albuquerque. However, he didn't expect her to _arrive_ until… 37 hours ago." Hammond's stern gaze swept the room. "I don't want anyone to start a panic. We all know how foolish we'd feel if Major Carter pulled into her brother's driveway to find an anti-kidnapping task force about to do a bloodhound search for her." He could see the occupants of the table imagining her reaction as vividly as he did. It still didn't outweigh the need to find her by much. "That said, if she hasn't contacted one of us or her brother by 1900 hours, Mark is going to file a missing person's report with the San Diego Police. They suggested that we collect any information we have for when the search begins."

"What are they waiting for! Sir." Janet remembered just in time that this was still a military briefing. Sort of.

Hammond ignored her near insubordination. "There's a 48 hour window before the police can get involved in an adult missing persons case. They won't start to look for her in that time unless they receive a ransom note. Since there has been none, no one is currently searching." Hammond looked disgusted but resigned as he continued. "But even if we could've had searchers out already, we don't know where to start. It's a three day drive to San Diego on the interstate for a person driving alone, but once you factor in the secondary roads she was planning to take, Major Carter could literally be anywhere from Albuquerque to San Diego."

Jack barely waited until his commanding officer finished explaining the circumstances. He tried to hide his concern in sarcasm, but it ran underneath his words like a river of fear. The last time Carter had been out of touch for this long on Earth, they'd had to resort to Maybourne's intelligence sources to even begin to find out where she could be. And Maybourne was, as of 10 days ago, safely ensconced on a 'gateless tropical planet full of friendly natives. That meant they had no semi-reliable bad guys to fall back on. "For cryin' out loud, doesn't _anyone_ have _any_ idea where she could be? I mean, I know the space from here to California is big, but there's only so much road you can take to San Diego. Just plot the most logical course and you'll find Carter."

"It's not that simple, Colonel. Her sister-in-law confirmed that Major Carter was planning to camp her way down on a scenic route – a plan I endorsed when she mentioned it to me 8 days ago. Depending on what she planned to see…" Hammond's voice trailed off. Then he cleared his throat and continued.

"She'd been pushing herself very hard to get her team back together and I thought she could use some time to relax. And Teal'c and Jonas, too, of course. I know she hasn't had much time to come to grips with the events of the last few months." Hammond's voice was carefully neutral, but he caught Jack's slight wince in his peripheral vision. He was aware of the treacherous emotional currents running between the remaining members of the original SG-1, but took conscious care to _not _notice unless he couldn't avoid it. Any mention of the major's near obsession with retrieving her colonel would have to be dragged out of Hammond.

He continued. "Mark assumed his sister was caught up in sightseeing; he wasn't seriously concerned until this morning. Major Carter was apparently planning to take her niece to the opening of a space exhibit at a local museum this afternoon and he doesn't believe she would miss it voluntarily. _BUT_, before we all go out and start beating the bushes, remember how unlikely it is that she'd run into something between here and California she couldn't handle."

"Sir!" Jack and Janet burst out roughly at the same time before Hammond cut them off with a gesture.

"I'm aware of your concerns, people, but this is what we know at this point. Any search we organize would be worse than looking for a needle in a haystack unless we can pin her itinerary down. If no one has any idea where she might be, all we can do is go through her office and see if she left any notes about her vacation plans."

"Sir, with all due respect, is that doing enough? I know Sam had been overtired lately and maybe that would let her be distracted." Janet carefully didn't look at Col. O'Neill, but Jonas seemed to have no such compunction. She raised her voice until she had the Kelownan's attention again. "Still, I can't believe she'd intentionally break a date with Meg. I talked to her the night before she left and she was very excited about having some time with her family. She mentioned that Mark and Jessica are expecting another baby and she wanted to make sure that Meg and Allen didn't feel left out."

"I'm sorry, Doctor Fraiser, but my hands are tied." Hammond quelled Jack's pending outburst with a look and continued. "I don't like it any better than you do, but the Air Force has no jurisdiction outside the grounds of this base. I've already requested that we be kept in the loop, but I also know the local police aren't thrilled about the military horning in on their territory. Officially, we don't have any reason to be involved. However, if there is any, and I mean _any_ suggestion that this is not a purely random mishap, we've got permission to be there in a heartbeat. Jurisdiction or not. That's as much as I can do for the moment." Hammond's vast forehead wrinkled in frustration.

Jack grunted but sat back. He muttered not quite under his breath, "If this were off world…"

Hammond ignored the insubordinate undertones in O'Neill's voice and answered as if he'd asked a question. "Granted, if this were off world I'd be moving Heaven, Earth and the alien planet to find her. But this is the United States and there are boundaries I have to respect. As I said before, I don't like it any better than you do.."

Jack shifted guiltily and nodded. "I'm sorry, sir, but you know as well as I do that the locals will start off with the usual twenty questions and spend days wasting their time. 'Does Carter have any reason to disappear?' No. 'Does Carter have a disgruntled ex-boyfriend or anyone else with a personal reason to come after her?' No. 'Did she ever mention feeling uneasy or threatened?' No. That'll go on until they start asking the useful questions."

Jack shifted from annoyance to frustration. "'Is there anyone who would want to harm Carter?' Why, yes there is. You see, for all these reasons we can't get into, there's a semi-covert government agency and a whole slew of alien conspiracy nuts who'd love to haul Carter off to a lab and dissect her. 'Why?' We could tell you, but then we'd have to kill you. And yes, there is something unusual about Major Carter, but we can't tell you what it is. Why? Because it's classified. And the work that takes up all of her time? You guessed it - classified. The reason she was currently on vacation and available to be kidnapped? Also classified."

Hammond couldn't help but see the anger-tinged anxiety driving Jack's sarcastic outburst. George Hammond wasn't just a commanding officer, he was Jack O'Neill's friend. And that friend knew that O'Neill needed to get a grip on his 'unsoldierly' emotions in order to be of any use to his missing 2IC. As much as both the Colonel and the Major were scrupulously correct in their professionalism, he'd have to be blind and deaf not to notice the feelings they both tried to hide.

Jack cared deeply for all his 'kids', but he'd cared so much for Carter that he'd been accused of being a programmed assassin during the za'tarc incident. His conscious attempts at proper military behavior had been so out of line with his suppressed feelings that he'd almost been incarcerated and indefinitely sedated. Major Carter had been able to make a less damning admission during that time, but her recent actions spoke for themselves.

Now Colonel O'Neill was reacting the way he did best, with sharp tongued insubordination that grated on Hammond's nerves. For both personal and professional reasons, and especially those reasons that straddled the line, Jack needed to calm down and regain his focus.

"I know you're not suggesting we break protocol and tell every county sheriff between here and the Mexican border about the reasons someone might kidnap the Major," Hammond snapped. Jack was smart enough to say nothing as he stared mutinously at the table.

Jonas waited until the General's expression softened. "General Hammond, is there any reason to think the same people are responsible for Major Carter's previous disappearance? That could cut down on the search area."

"As far as we know, Jonas, Adrian Conrad's organization is dead. According to your reports, he and his Goa'uld were killed during the Prometheus incident. The Steveston, Oregon Project was shut down after you discovered it. If they're running any other Stargate related experiments, we haven't been able to find them. Furthermore, the NID have to know that we'd find out if they were involved. There's simply no reason for anyone to take Major Carter for Jolinar's… influence. I can't see any reason to consider his people viable suspects at this point."

"Sir, maybe this _is_ Stargate related, just not in the way the previous attempt was. Maybe they don't want Sam for Jolinar's brain, but her own." Janet added unhappily.

"What?" Jack asked, puzzled.

"Sam _is_ the most experienced scientist we have with practical knowledge of both the Stargate and wormhole physics. This may have nothing to do with her symbiote –" Janet was cut off.

"EX-symbiote." Jack stated clearly, staring Doc Fraiser down as if she had become part of some medical conspiracy to steal her best friend and dissect her.

"Ex-symbiote." Janet agreed coolly, continuing. "Sir, I agree that if there's not another mature symbiote ready for removal on Earth, whoever took Sam would have no reason to study her. And if they've penetrated our security well enough to find out when Sam has downtime and where she's going, they probably have access to a pretty complete medical file on her as well. They wouldn't need to kidnap her to get basic answers. This may be the more straightforward situation of someone attempting to get information on the Stargate itself or to build some facsimile of their own."

Jonas jumped in. "Yeah. Remember that the Ascended alien, Orlin, built a Stargate in Sam's basement out of materials easily obtained here on Earth. There'd have to be a lot of people out there who'd want that technical knowledge and think that Sam had it."

"Actually, I'm afraid that you may have a point." Hammond admitted. "That's another aspect to Major Carter's disappearance we'll have to consider."

"Alright, so we have no idea who took her or why. We can't search for her yet because we don't know where to look. We can't check up on the bad guys since we don't have Maybourne's usual slimy help. What _can_ we do to find her if she didn't tell anyone where she was going and what she planned to do on the way?" Jack demanded.

He noticed that Jonas straightened up at his remark and began to blink. Slowly. Like he was trying to… remember something? Jack felt a tiny surge of hope. "Jonas? You have something?"

General Hammond had noticed as well. "Mr. Quinn? _Jonas_, is there something you know?"

Janet caught her breath at the young man's brilliant smile.

"Well, she did mention something about seeing the Grand Canyon along the way. I'd never seen it and she promised to bring me some information from the guest center when she came back. I think she was planning to stay there for a few days." Jonas blinked at the sudden relief in his bosses' eyes, although the fear was still detectable underneath.

"Thank you, Jonas." Hammond's tone was almost gentle as he made eye contact with all the intelligent, resourceful people sitting around that table. "I can't order any of you to go out and look for Major Carter. I just don't have the authority. You can't do a thing to help in San Diego, but now we have another place to start the search. And the Grand Canyon is a National Park. Any investigation on federal property is in the hands of the FBI." Hammond willed his people to hear between the lines.

"Now, I know they won't be able to move on any information they have until the locals or the park police get around to passing it on. And most of the information they might need in order to consider all the possibilities is classified. And we can't tell them outright what they're not cleared to know. The only way they'll know to pursue your other avenues, Colonel, is if someone with that knowledge were … influencing the investigation from the beginning." General Hammond met his 2IC's eyes with a significant look.

Jack's sharklike grin told Hammond all he needed to know. "Yes, sir." Jack responded in a more hopeful tone. The Air Force might not have been able to apply much extra pressure without opening some classified cans of worms, but he could shadow the investigation and see who exactly was responsible for Carter's disappearance. If it turned out that Carter had been taken for what she knew, he'd be ready to swoop in and find her faster.

It was a good thing he had another week of leave. And no one really needed to know where he spent it. Especially whoever was keeping tabs on his team with enough detail to snatch one of them.

He leaned pseudo-casually over towards the lone woman at the table. "Hey, Doc, I think I'm gonna be out of town for the next few days. If you need any more weigh-ins from me, they'd better happen now."

Janet's worried eyes overshadowed her calm face. It wasn't exactly dangerous to let Colonel O'Neill go, but she'd bet dollars to donuts that he'd come back in worse shape than he was in now. She'd feel better as a doctor if he stayed close by.

Of course, she'd feel better as a friend if he broke every speed limit between here and Arizona and didn't rest until Sam was found.

She noted his determined look and sighed. Trying to hold him here would be worse than futile. Plus, her nurses really _might_ mutiny. "That should be acceptable, Colonel. I'll need you to make a final weigh-in now and another when you return for duty. Remember that you're supposed to be eating at least 4000 calories per day as well as your vitamin and mineral supplements. I'll still need to go over your blood work from this morning, but I don't think there's a medical reason to keep you here."

Jack's grim smile let her know that he would push himself all the harder the further he got from her check-ups. However, his reserves of strength were still depleted and she felt uneasy letting him off the hook completely. Well, if she couldn't keep him here, she could at least keep him honest in his reports from the road.

Her own shadowed eyes would have been mischievous in a happier situation. "As I said, I don't have a legitimate reason to keep you_ here_, but I'd feel better if there were someone near you to monitor your condition. You still have traces of the 'alien loco weed', as you put it, in your system. Jonas, didn't you say something about wanting to see the Grand Canyon? Maybe you could go with the Colonel and keep an eye on him for me."

Jack's death glare was actually improving. "I don't need a babysitter, Doc."

Janet pursed her lips as she glanced at Hammond. "No, of course not. You're always so honest when it comes to reporting your condition and so happily compliant when it comes to doctor's orders."

Jack blinked in surprise before scowling defiantly. He was the smartass at this table, thank you very much. And he wasn't _intending_ to run himself down while looking for Carter. It just might kinda ... happen. He was a grownup, for cryin' out loud!

Janet met his gaze with a 'don't mess with me, flyboy' stare. Missing friend or no, she couldn't let him lose all the progress he'd gained this week. If, God forbid, Sam wasn't found in the next day or two, they'd all need him healthy to lend the search his particular brand of determination. "Sir, would it be alright for Jonas to accompany Colonel O'Neill on his… vacation?"

Hammond's answering smile was weak, but it was a smile. "Yes, Doctor Fraiser, that sounds like a very good idea. Jack, Jonas, I can't order you to report in from your vacation, but I'd appreciate it if we heard from you at least twice a day."

"And Teal'c, sir? Shouldn't we bring him back to help?" Jonas asked, already running down the mental list of things he should check before they left.

Hammond considered that a moment and then shook his head. "No, Teal'c will call in sometime tomorrow with a list of supplies the Jaffa need. If you haven't found anything by then, I'll tell him that you two are on… vacation… and see if he wants to join you. I expect he will."

The general rose from the table as Jack, Janet and Jonas followed suit. "I have to make some phone calls and alert the park police to Major Carter's last probable location. I'll let you know if I hear anything further on this end. Dismissed."

Hammond's subordinates murmured their 'yes, sir's and scurried off to make ready for their part in the search for Sam. Once the room was clear, he dropped his face into his hands and rubbed fiercely at his eyes. He had kept on the bravest face he could for his officers, but he had a very bad feeling about this.

Hammond wasn't even considering the police's theory about car trouble and cell phone blackouts, but they'd have to waste time disproving it before they could get on with the search. As if the woman who could build a particle accelerator from scratch couldn't fix her engine or find a phone! Not that he could explain that to them. He sighed and headed into his office.

At least the Grand Canyon might help. Actually, he pondered, squinting in concentration, if she _had _been kidnapped on federal lands, the SGC could probably slip some people into the official FBI investigation. He felt bad enough already at not joining SG-1 and there was so little he could do. Officially. As soon as he could touch base with Mark and the local police, he'd have to call some friends in Washington and see what they could do on that angle.

He hoped there was some kind of good news. Somehow. Anyhow.

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AN: This chapter drove me crazy – I hope it wasn't as bad as I thought. Probably was. Frelling necessary information. :-( BUT, the action starts in earnest next chapter and I'm having fun writing it, so stay tuned. I'll try to post before the weekend, but no promises. Review! It makes me write faster. ;-)

PS: The title of this chapter comes from a Marc Cohn song off his latest album (Track 5 on "Burning the Daze") – and it's awesome. Find it and listen!

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Next Chapter: Sam, Lies and Videotape, part 1 – the search begins at the Grand Canyon; an homage to everyone's fave actors and Feds, and more O'Neill hiding his concern. Yadda. ;-)


	4. Sam, Lies and Videotape part 1: Getting ...

See Disclaimer in Chapter 1. Still doing this for love, not money.

(AN at bottom)

FHtA: Sam, Lies and Videotape, part 1: Getting to know you … better than I want to

Outside Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

Downtime Day 10

If one is not naturally gifted with patience, one might feel that the closer one gets to one's goal, the more time slows down. If a car full of … ones… is approaching the Grand Canyon National Park Administration Office at 55 mph, and that office is 9.5 miles away, how long will it take the car to arrive?

Solving a math problem, ten minutes and change.

Sitting in the back seat, approximately 107 years.

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Jack O'Neill sat in the back of a non-descript four door sedan and tried manfully not to fidget. He glanced over at Jonas Quinn, who was smiling slightly as the alien took in yet another first – probably something like 'being chauffeured by the Men in Black for the first time'. He sighed.

"Colonel O'Neill? Is there something I can do for you?" the younger FBI agent asked. She was a young, slim redhead built along the same lines as Doctor Fraiser, and she had that same professional intensity. Instead of scrubs, she wore a black pantsuit with a white shirt. He could almost remember her name…

"Anderson?" her partner asked from the driver's seat. _This_ guy O'Neill could remember. Special Agent Michael Tapping was as tall, dark and lanky as O'Neill himself, but there the resemblance ended. He was wearing his own black suit, white shirt combination, and it made him look like an undertaker. Or an alien hunting FBI agent.

His patient smile at their introduction had set Jack's teeth on edge – this guy seemed prepared to indulge Jack and Jonas in their delusions of adequacy. Of course, when the time came to do any _real_ investigation … the two military types could probably fetch the detectives' coffee. Maybe.

"No, Agent Anderson. Agent Mapping. We're fine back here." Jack's response was as serious as he could make it, but he saw Jonas smirking out of the corner of his eye. C'mon! Did his team really believe that he was that bad with names _by accident_?

If Jack had been hoping for an explosion, he was disappointed. The agent in the driver's seat smothered a sigh, as if he wondered what exactly he'd done to deserve this assignment. "That's Tapping, Colonel O'Neill. Agent _Tapping_ with a _T_."

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Special Agent Christina Anderson swallowed a smile as she saw her longtime partner begin his "count to 10" routine. He and Col. O'Neill were a pair if she'd ever seen one. And she'd rather not say a pair of what.

She and Tapping had flown in from D.C. on the red eye to find Colonel O'Neill and Mr. Quinn all but walking the walls in their desire to get searching. Her partner had grumbled all the way to Arizona about being sucked into an "absolutely no publicity under any circumstances" missing persons case. Until he'd gotten to the dossier Chris had been able to put together on Major Samantha Carter, that is.

Once he found out that she worked for a highly classified "Deep Space Radar Telemetry Project" he'd been ready to get behind the plane and push. He hadn't said as much to the perennially down-to-earth Chris, but she knew, just _knew_ that he was trying to fit Samantha Carter into the profile of either:

a) an embezzling, treasonous Mata Hari, OR

b) a brilliant, military damsel in distress.

For an up and coming agent with a Master's Degree in Criminalistics and several years of solving tough cases, he could be awfully blind about the general character of professional, ambitious women who were not his partner. If he hadn't been such a good investigator, she'd have smacked him upside his head with the relevant files.

"Sorry," Colonel O'Neill lied, reclaiming her attention. "I'm really bad with names. But no, Agent Anderson. I'm just patiently waiting til we get to the park offices and start finding Carter. Because we'd hate to have the 'investigative team' show up in pieces and get answers as soon as possible."

Chris arranged her face along calm lines and ignored the jab. It took time to get authority to investigate in a national park despite the FBI's mandate. Especially since they couldn't be sure that a crime had actually been committed. Her boss had been _thrilled_ with that part of the explanation. She just had to remember that O'Neill and Quinn didn't know how far out on a limb she'd gone to get this case and give it priority over the others on her desk. The mass of others. A backlog, even. Her boss was trusting her to establish that a crime had been committed and then turn in a crisp, by the book report complete with suspect and rescued victim. She hoped it would be that simple.

"I expect that we'll get a good idea of what happened as soon as we examine the security tapes" she soothed. "I understand that there's already a search of the canyon floor ongoing."

"Mr. Quinn, how certain were you that Major Carter would visit the Grand Canyon on her way to San Diego? Or is there a possibility that she was going to get your information on the way back?" Tapping burst in. The faint gleam in his eye wasn't lost on either back seat passenger.

"I'm really not sure whether Sam was going to stop on the way there or the way back, Agent Tapping. I just know that this is the only other point on her itinerary that any of us were aware of. We know she's not in San Diego, so this was the only logical place to look for her." Jonas explained patiently.

"I see. Did she tell you if she was meeting anyone here? A friend or a contact of some kind?" Anderson stiffened at her partner's carefully non-insinuating tone. He had been asking leading questions in this vein ever since they met the military representatives riding in the back seat. Tapping was pushing the boundary between friendly questioning and casual interrogation already.

"No, I don't believe she was meeting anyone until she got to her brother's house. In fact, given that this time off came together in a hurry, I doubt she'd have had the chance to make plans to meet a _friend_." Jonas was just as unsubtle as Tapping, but both men still held on to a veneer of civility. "And part of the point of camping instead of driving straight through is the freedom to travel without a set schedule. So, no, I don't think she came by here to meet _anyone_."

"Mmm-hmm. Are either of you very familiar with Major Carter's life off base? Is she social? Does she have hobbies or groups that she belongs to?" Again with the neutral tone. They needed all this information for the investigation, sure, but the way he was asking… Chris turned to give him a what-the-heck-are-you-up-to look. He ignored her.

"Carter works more than she's at home. She has to be ordered to take it easy," O'Neill bit out. "Her work is her 'hobby' and her colleagues are her 'group'. She's very … conscientious." Anderson guessed that O'Neill had been the person ordering Sa- Major Carter to relax and take a break, and he probably hadn't been that successful. But he'd obviously rather sing show tunes naked while juggling unicycles than give Tapping ammunition for a witch hunt. She grasped for a way to turn the conversation aside. There was a _reason_ she usually did the friends-and-family interviews.

"I see. And did she have any recent changes in her patterns? Any change of mood or routine? Any unusually large purchases?"

Anderson jumped in before the Colonel with the extremely classified service record demonstrated the nasty part of his resume on her partner. "Oh, look, we're almost there. I think the administration office is on the second right, after the main park entrance. Hopefully the security chief is ready to help. I'm sure he's busy with all the tourists that come here." Lame, lame, lame. She shot a look at the older man in the backseat and hurried on. "Had the two of you known Major Carter long?"

Colonel O'Neill stayed silent just beyond the limit of polite. Jonas slid a glance over at him and responded. "I've only known Sam for about a year, but Colonel O'Neill has worked with her for about 6 years."

Tapping's next casual question was anything but. "Do you have any evidence that Major Carter even _came_ to Arizona, Mr. Quinn? I thought the last contact with her was from New Mexico. She could have gone anywhere by now."

Chris could see the Colonel bristle at the "gone" instead of "been taken", but he stayed lock-jawed silent and let Jonas respond.

"Well, Agent… Tapping, I guess I'd have to admit I don't have any evidence. The last time I spoke to her was on base 10 days ago. I understood from the general that she talked to her brother the night after she left the Springs." Jonas sounded as unhappy as Colonel O'Neill looked.

"And is there any _proof_ that she traveled this way after she left Colorado Springs?" Tapping tried again.

"Thought of that already," the colonel busted in. His every sentence was bullet pointed with a thick dab of controlled ire. "We drove the route that Carter would have taken to Albuquerque. We verified that route by the gas stations shown on her credit card records. We stopped by the motel that showed up on her brother's phone records. We asked the manager if she rented a room there that night. The manager said yes. We followed her credit card trail to a gas station in a small town about a half hour's drive from here. She bought super unleaded, a map of the canyon and surrounding area, a pack of tissues and a diet soda. The store manager recognized her picture. He mentioned that they get very few strangers through there. He remembered her smile. He didn't think she was agitated or uneasy and he didn't have another customer for an hour. He didn't think she was followed. We drove here. We saw no sign of Carter or her car anywhere. We got here and waited for _you_."

Agent Tapping was not amused. "And just how did you get those phone and credit card records, Colonel O'Neill? Credit card charges aren't available unless you have a warrant."

Jonas took over. "Sam left power of attorney over her finances with General Hammond." He must have noticed Tapping's incredulous look as he continued. "It's standard when … projects may leave base personnel… incommunicado for long periods of time. He faxed over the paperwork and the company sent back the records. It's completely legal."

Tapping scowled as if he'd been shown up. Which, in fact, he had been. Nothing like having a civilian cover all your bases before you even got the case. Anderson tried again to diffuse the situation. "Thanks for doing that, Colonel. Mr. Quinn. It was a really good idea for you two to get those records and establish the trail here. If the credit card company released them to you without a problem you just saved us a step."

Colonel O'Neill grunted in a mostly non-irritated fashion, but Jonas gave her a grateful smile. "It's Jonas, Agent Anderson. I'm not used to being called anything else."

Tapping, of course, had to stick his nose in again. "Did you do a photo array for the identifications or just show one picture? Did the motel manager identify anyone that may have been with her? Did her _new car_ linger in anyone's memory?"

Anderson stepped in before the testosterone could get any thicker. "Jonas, you should call me Chris. And you too, Colonel O'Neill. We'll be working _together_ to find out where Major Carter is and we may as well develop a _good working relationship_."

Tapping couldn't pretend not to get that. He finally subsided. But Chris wasn't taking his good behavior for granted after the last five minutes. She tacked on a last sentence to distract her partner. "I think we should split up and try to cover as much territory as possible as soon as possible once we get oriented by the security chief."

Tapping's shoulders tensed and he twisted to glare at her. "I'm not sure splitting up's a great idea, Anderson. If there's any suggestion of foul play, I'd rather that we were in a position to back each other up."

She rolled her eyes at him. Granted, he was 6'4" to her 5'2½", but that didn't affect his opinion of her effectiveness as an agent. Unless Chris suggested putting them in equal _physical_ danger. His switch from hard nosed investigation to protectiveness was a wee bit irritating since she regularly kicked his ass on the sparring mat, but it was a useful and time-honored distraction. "C'mon, Tapping, you know I can look after myself. And if we didn't have the Colonel and Jonas for back up, we'd still be using the same game plan. It's only common sense to have a division of labor."

Tapping turned into the parking lot and frowned. "Let's see what the situation is here before we make any decisions."

Chris checked the rear view mirror and raised an eyebrow. Tapping was concentrating on entering the park and she wanted to see the results of their little conversation before his attention returned. Jonas seemed to understand that she'd pulled some kind of bait-and-switch on her partner and he smiled up at her. The Colonel, however, still looked two pointed questions away from maiming Tapping. She'd have to arrange to keep the Colonel with her and away from Tapping when they got their plan together.

Tapping had barely brought the car to a stop before Colonel O'Neill flung his door open and headed for the nearest entrance at a brisk walk. Tapping swore under his breath and jogged to catch up. She could almost hear him thinking 'this is an official FBI inquiry and I don't need Colonel O'Neanderthal to make the first impression'.

Chris climbed slowly out of the car and found Jonas standing politely by her door with his hand out to help her. She smiled up at him automatically, but the smirk on his face as he watched Tapping and O'Neill race for the building forced a laugh from the tiny redhead. Jonas met her eye and grinned.

"How long do you think they can keep this up, Agent Anderson?" Jonas asked as he shut Chris' door behind her.

"It's _Chris_, Jonas. And if you mean the 'leader of the pack' contest? I think they can keep it up for the entire investigation." She grinned up at the tall, friendly man. Might as well ask some of the more delicate questions while the other two were off proving how big their … authority was.

"Jonas, I know Tapping asked the basics about Sa- Major Carter's life, but I get the feeling there's a lot more you could tell me. Do you think you could help?" She hoped her unthreatening tinyness worked in her favor here.

Jonas' smile flickered, but he didn't falter as they approached the entrance. "Well, we work at a secure base on a classified project, so I'm sure there's a lot we can't tell you. It's nothing personal, it's just- "

"Classified," Chris offered. "I know. I was a military brat and believe me, I know what classified means. I don't expect either one of you to break security. And that's not really what I'm after. There are some personal questions that we need to ask in any adult missing persons case."

She paused to come up with the most neutral words possible. "What I meant was… how sure are you that Major Carter didn't just… disappear? I know Tapping was hammering the issue, but it _is_ a standard question in a case like this. Can you be _completely_ sure that she didn't … take a holiday?"

"No!" Jonas denied. Chris was surprised at his vehemence. "I mean, yes, I'm sure. It's not that I've never thought that Sam should take a vacation. But I've never actually known her to voluntarily take a day off, and I've worked with her for almost a year. There's literally no way she would worry us like this."

Chris still didn't look convinced, but his earnestness was hard to discount.

"Look, I know that people do strange things for even stranger reasons on this pl – particular career path. Okay, yeah, Sam's under a lot of stress at work. But most of that pressure she puts on herself. Plus, and this is the biggest reason, we just got the colonel back."

"Back from where?" Chris asked. She'd caught Jonas' slip, but she couldn't figure out what he'd meant to say. Pl? **Pl**atform? De**Pl**oyment? **Pl**ane of existence? Better to ignore it and let Tapping be the bad cop. He was doing such a wonderful job already.

"More like back from whom." Jonas glanced over her. "I can't tell you the details, obviously, but Colonel O'Neill … went missing on our last mission. We were escorting … a fugitive who found a way to… escape and… take the colonel with him. Sam was on site at the time and when she regained consciousness they were nowhere to be found."

His eyes took on a weary look. "It took us more than three weeks to find and retrieve the colonel, and Sam searched harder than any of us. She wouldn't let us give up on him. Even if she _was_ going to purposefully disappear, and I don't think she ever would, she wouldn't put the rest of the team through that. Especially not right now."

Chris took in his sincere expression and nodded slowly. He truly believed what he was saying and she had no reason to doubt him. But there was at least one other question she had to ask before they went in.

"Okay, Jonas. So she wouldn't stage her own disappearance. And from her service record I'll assume she didn't go missing voluntarily. But is there anything, _anything_ else that would make this a non-routine kidnapping case, if that turns out to be what happened here?"

Jonas paled and sent a weak smile at the little Fed with the Fraiser-worthy 'confess or die' stare. He looked like he'd rather eat road kill than answer that. A lot of it. So much for a simple by-the-book case.

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Author's Note:

Sorry this is so late! I've been wrestling with my muse, Moo, and she's "bored now" and wants to start writing about Sam's adventures, but we compromised and got at least this ready to go. I have two more chapters that we're fighting over before the evidence starts accumulating and (hopefully) the plot gets enough momentum to steamroll her. Stupid grumpy muse!

Hope you liked my oh-so-subtle homage. ;-)

Agent Michael (Shanks) (Amanda) Tapping may be a jerk, but that's no reflection on his namesakes. And Agent Christina (Christopher Judge) (Richard Dean) Anderson should be enough to make up for him, at least. Right? Oh, and originally Anderson and Tapping were way more Mulder and Scully than they ended up here, but it just didn't fit so picture the 'FBI's most unwanted' as these two if you like.

PLEASE PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! It gives me ammo to hurl at Moo when she wants to wander!


	5. Sam, Lies and Videotape part 2: Get this...

FHtA: Sam, Lies and Videotape, Part 2: Get this (search) party started

Disclaimer: All hail Stargate's owners and creators and copyright holders and shadowy minions thereof! I have no minions (my cat ate them); therefore I cannot be and am not the owner or proprietor of Stargate:SG1 or any related intellectual property goodness. Pity me if you must, but please don't sue! Thanks! Buh-bye!

P.S. Oh, uh, I do own Ludlow and Andy and Alvarez and Ranger Pitt and um, gas station attendants and motel managers and anyone else you don't recognize.

Author's Notes to follow. Now on with the story!

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Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

Downtime Day 10

Colonel Jack O'Neill strode into the Administration Office and crossed directly to the reception desk. Even dressed in jeans and a leather bomber jacket, he gave off an air of restrained energy and power. The uniformed ranger behind the desk smiled brightly and put unconscious emphasis on her standard offer to help. He took off his sunglasses and said, "Colonel Jack O'Neill-"

"And Special Agent Michael Tapping of the Federal Bureau of Investigation to see Security Chief Ludlow. We have an appointment." Tapping, all six feet something of him, was just slightly breathless.

The young female ranger, having admired the colonel on his way in, made a subtle study of the arriving man. He looked good in a 'geek chic' way with dark brown hair as rumpled as a slept in suit. Days like this she loved front desk duty.

Still, these two were clearly on a mission from Authority. The FBI agent sent one last grimace-that-passed-for-a-smile in her direction before he whipped around to glare at Colonel Calm, Cool and Collected. She slipped away to summon the Security Chief and his deputies.

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If looks could kill, Jack would have needed a sarcophagus again. And again. And then he would've been struck mute. Repeatedly. He tried to care, really he did, but this Feeb was already grating on his nerves. Presumably the FBI required some kind of training, right? How Not to Alienate Potential Sources of Information 101? This Tapping jerk needed to go back for remedial work. So, yeah, they probably had to ask all those questions about Carter just the same they would about anyone they were investigating. And he'd heard worse. Hell, he'd _said_ worse, if not about his 2IC. But the way this guy was shredding Carter's reputation without ever saying anything directly made Jack want to… Well, it was just one more reason to make it a short investigation. Self-control in the face of pissyness was never his strong suit.

"Sirs, if you'll please follow me?" the returned ranger requested. She opened the door to an office and waved them in. "If you'll just have a seat in here, Chief Ludlow will be with you shortly."

"Ah, Ranger Pitt? There are two other people who'll be joining us. Could we get seats for them, too? Thanks." Jack's brusque question came as he completed a nearly unconscious assessment of the room's threat potential. He automatically claimed the seat no one could sneak up on and adopted a deceptively casual slouch. The sooner this whole charade was over the sooner they could start looking for Carter.

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Agent Tapping claimed the more exposed chair and turned to face Colonel O'Neill as the door closed. He mentally counted to fifty and back while in search of the perfect opening and a conciliatory professional tone. As much as Chris was the designated 'people person' in their partnership, he recognized the simmering anger he'd provoked in the grizzled officer and his young companion. Not that he would've done it any differently if he'd known the result.

O'Neill seemed to be taking this far too personally for Tapping's comfort. Tapping's questions were a little more pointed than usual, but come on! It was basic investigative theory – when you have nothing to go on, you start with what you know and try to extend your knowledge until some evidence shows up. At this point all they had was a name and one measly file on the victim, so he had to ask questions about her. And unless her disappearance was a random event – a slim possibility that Tapping couldn't completely dismiss – the victim had been abducted for a reason. What was so offensive about exploring all the possibilities?

Regardless of offense, those questions and other, more personal ones still needed to be asked. He'd be damned if he'd let some Washington string puller yank him out into the field, saddle him with two 'military observers' and then restrict his ability to solve the case. He could foist the grumpy colonel off on his partner for the rest of those questions and hope that her innate people skills could coax information from him. Still, Tapping was the senior agent on site. He needed to get O'Neill to recognize his authority ASAP. What was that claptrap his last 'sensitivity training' had drilled into him? 'I' statements. And not 'I think you're an idiot and possibly a co-conspirator. Now where is Major Carter?' He sighed and leaned forward, the picture of earnestness.

"Colonel O'Neill, I'm afraid we've gotten off to a bad start here. I know you're concerned about your partner and I want you to know we'll do our best to find her. There are standard questions we have to ask with every disappearance. Even if we don't find any indication of why exactly Major Carter was here and a detailed account of what she did during her stay, she may turn up later. People wander into the Grand Canyon every year and wander back out a few days later, especially inexperienced campers. Maybe she even left with a friend for some, err, sightseeing. I'm sure everything will be fine. Once we figure out who she met and what they were up to, this case will solve itself."

Tapping saw O'Neill's jaw tighten with the effort to speak civilly. He couldn't know that his insinuations about the missing woman put the colonel forcibly in mind of NID smear tactics that SG-1 had been fighting for years. Tapping's 'standard questions' and others like them could be a serious threat to the major's career and reputation if they got to be part of an official investigative record, no matter what the outcome.

O'Neill's deceptive slouch dissolved into the crouch of a seasoned predator. His eyes snapped under frowning brows that would have warned a lesser man to sit down and shut up. "Agent. Tapping. Major Carter is an Air Force officer with nearly a decade of experience. She's no traitor. But she _is_ a combat veteran with specialized wilderness survival training. Which you would know if you bothered to read her service record." O'Neill was now leaning forward with a barely restrained intensity. His hands clenched on the arms of his chair as if only his white-knuckled hold kept him from going for the agent's throat. "Major Carter has already been missing for a _week_ and she deserves better than some suitmonkey who thinks answers will just fall in his lap if he sits around long enough! "

Tapping was speechless. He'd been trying to make nice and look what happened! He was in charge here, dammit! He tried to loom over the older man's position. "Listen, Colonel! This is an _FBI_ investigation, not a military one! You and your little partner Quinn –"

"Team Member." O'Neill gritted out, his tight jaw clenched.

"Fine! You and your Team Member – Partner – Whatever – are here on sufferance! My orders were to give you access to all the information we receive and to listen to any suggestions you might have as to _classified_ aspects of the case. So far, there aren't any." Tapping punctuated his observation with a 'so there!' hand gesture guaranteed to raise O'Neill's blood pressure. He leaned so far forward in his chair that he actually got up and got right in O'Neill's face. "I don't have to let you sit in on this interview! You're not even supposed to be involved until we establish that a crime was committed here! Now, you might have access to my case because somebody pulled some very tense strings in Washington, but this is MY investigation and I won't have you telling me how to do my job!"

Jack rose silently from his chair as his hands flexed into fists. "Your_ job_ is to find Carter by whatever means necessary. Take your head out of your ass for one minute and think about why we've been assigned to you for the _classified_ parts of this case." He violated Tapping's personal space and began wildly ticking off points on his fingers. "Major Carter's the head researcher on a project so secret you don't even know its name. She's the smartest person in a base full of geeks and some very nasty guys would kill for that brain power." He grabbed at control with both hands and made himself step back, but his voice was still loud and furious. "Her clearance goes to levels you've never even heard of, and she has it because people with more knowledge and experience than _you_ trust her and her judgment. If there's any string pulling going on behind the scenes, you can bet your ass she deserves it!"

Jack slowly made himself sit back down. A brilliant Carter-like solution was beyond him, but he could tear strips off these agency types all day long. Where did they recruit these morons, anyway? Tapping obviously didn't get it. SG-1 didn't leave their people behind - whether on or off world – and he was living proof. His steely eyes never left Tapping's startled ones, and they never lost their intensity. The stare was broken only by the office door opening.

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"Thank you, Ranger Pitt. We'll be fine to wait… in… here." Chris Anderson's voice trailed off as she took in the atmosphere in the tiny office. The door had barely closed when she turned to her partner, arms akimbo. "What's going on?"

Jack answered. "Nothing important, Agent Anderson. We were just telling each other our... expectations for the investigation."

Tapping did, indeed, know what was good for him, so he said nothing. Not that he was afraid of the colonel or anything. It was just better to keep quiet for now and look into his theory away from 'observing' eyes. His spine straightened and he glanced defiantly over at O'Neill as he sat down.

Chris' eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to speak. Between the information she'd just gotten from Jonas and the pissing contest she'd apparently interrupted, this investigation could run aground before they got it started. And she wouldn't tolerate that. She took a slow breath and spat out her trump card. "I certainly hope personal conflicts won't force me to eject any members of this team. Any trail here is getting colder and our combined jurisdiction doesn't stretch across that highway. The Deputy Director gave _me_ this case," and Tapping got identical death glares from O'Neill and his partner for that little forgotten detail, "and I don't want to have to pull rank, but the _only_ thing we're here to do is find Samantha Carter. Is that clear?"

She glanced rapidly from Jack to Tapping and back and saw her partner shut his mouth with a click. The colonel jerked his head in what could be interpreted as a nod and kept his narrowed eyes on Tapping. "Fine. Now that we're all on the same page," and she clearly didn't think they were, "let's get some basic questions out of the way."

"Yeah, like what the major's real plan-" Tapping's semi-sneer lasted less than half a second.

"Maybe I didn't make it simple enough for you, Mapping! Take your questions and shove them up your-" the Colonel's interruption got just a little farther before an ear-splitting whistle shocked them into silence.

"HEY!" Agent Anderson's face was now the shade of her fiery hair and all five feet and two-and-a-half inches of her body vibrated with menace. She moved between the suddenly standing men and glared them back into their chairs. "You two want simple? Try this: Sit Down and Shut Up! _I _will ask the questions and anyone with information will volunteer the answer. A _factual _answer based on solid evidence. That's an order from the agent in charge of this investigation, Gentlemen."

Both O'Neill and Tapping glared up at Chris, but they did as they were told. Barely. She moved just out of their line of sight and made herself calm down. Her voice was quiet and controlled, with just a thread of fury snaking through, as she continued. "Now, Major Carter just purchased a large new SUV that seems out of her price range given that she also has a new Volvo. Does anyone have information relating to this?"

Jonas piped up from his place beside the colonel, "Major Carter was in a car accident about five months ago and her old Volvo was totaled. In the meantime the insurance company let her lease a new Volvo until they could finish their investigation. She turned in the new car and bought an SUV with the settlement."

"I see. Thank you, Jonas. Her recent purchase of two new cars stood out for someone with her salary. Were there any after effects of the accident besides the change in vehicles?" Anderson stared at her partner until he got out a notebook and jotted this explanation down.

"Well, it was a pretty bad wreck. She was heading home from the mountain late one night and got broadsided by a drunk driver. Her old car was a classic Volvo and it didn't have the airbags and safety features the new ones have. The front of the SUV just crashed right through her engine and front passenger compartment. She was in a coma for two days afterwards and it took her almost a month to return to limited duty on base," Jonas continued.

"Okay. Were there any lingering physical effects or changes in her personality or cognitive processes as a result of her injuries? Has she been cleared for duty since then?"

"Yes, she's been cleared," Colonel O'Neill added. "Carter's brain is unscrambled."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Doctor Fraiser, the base's CMO, put her through every test in the book and some she just made up. Carter passed. She was out of commission for two-and-a-half months, but she's all better now. Is that what you wanted to know?" O'Neill snapped.

"Yes. Thank. You." Anderson took another breath and glanced at her partner, who was transcribing this interrogation without further prompting from her. "Now, Jonas also mentioned that Major was abducted last year. He assures me that there is no connection between that incident and this one. Do you agree?"

Tapping's head shot up at this new information but he stayed silent. Anderson was in a rhythm and digging well without his help.

"Yeah. Think maybe there was a reason we're so gung ho about the kidnapping theory?" O'Neill taunted.

Tapping couldn't let that go. "And maybe it's just a great cover story."

"Enough!" Anderson returned. Her tone got very dry as she continued. "Tell me if I have my facts straight here. An incredibly rich industrialist, Mr. Adrian Conrad, found out that Sa- Major Carter has a … unique chemical in her blood because of an on-the-job accident a few years ago under classified circumstances which you are unable to clarify. The chemical, which you are unable to name, is not harmful and has no communicable effects unlike the hallucinogenic substance released from your base recently." Jack's poker face revealed nothing as she continued. Their cover story after the appearance of aliens from a parallel dimension was barely plausible, but he had no intention of setting Anderson straight.

"This unnamed chemical in Sa- _Major Carter's _ blood is very rare and has possible medical applications. You found out later that someone close to the program sold Conrad that information and he decided to try and run tests on her to see if it could help him cure a rare disease he'd contracted. However, according to Jonas, this information is closely held and therefore not likely to induce another kidnapping attempt."

"You mean he kidnapped her to make her some kind of lab rat?" Tapping's horrified surprise was the only visible reaction besides a certain grim distaste in O'Neill's eyes.

Jonas picked up the narrative. "Yeah. He took her from her gym when she was off base for the weekend. The colonel and the rest of the team connected the dots and found her in a private hospital in Oregon. And before you ask, yes. We know this's not related to that because that guy found another cure and was being held in custody for his part in kidnapping Major Carter. He died from … a side effect of that cure a few weeks ago. Plus we shut down another project of his a few months ago and we think we have the rest of his cronies under wraps as well."

"And you don't think all this antagonized whoever was running Conrad's businesses? This alone could be cause for a further kidnapping attempt." Anderson's fake patience was wearing impossibly thin. "Okay, so there's obviously more to Major Carter's life than we understood. Is there any _other_ time she was abducted or threatened in the recent past? Hell, in the last five years? How sure are you that you got everyone from the previous attempt?"

Tapping broke in on his favorite theme. "Did you follow the money trail to see who else might have been behind it?"

"Oh, that's about it for kidnapping," O'Neill interjected, ignoring Tapping completely.

That didn't stop Jonas from adding to it. "Some of the missions we've been on have been dangerous, but they're classified and not really relevant to this situation. I mean, they're not specifically threatening to Sam. I just mentioned the other because it fit with our theory of what happened here."

"Thank you. Jonas." O'Neill's glare shut the helpful man down.

Chris let her glare fade into a stern look and she very much meant it. "You realize that it could take months to solve the case if you're deliberately withholding information? I'm not trying to point fingers here, but we need all the leads you can give us."

"About kidnapping or anything _else_ that might be going on." Tapping added.

Anderson closed her eyes and waited for the storm of insults and accusations her partner seemed determined to provoke. It wasn't long in coming. For every insinuation Tapping made about insidious motives Sam may have had for disappearing, O'Neill countered with an insult on Tapping's training, investigative ability, hygiene or ancestry and a reasonable counter to the previous charge. Only she and Jonas stayed more or less out of it until her control finally snapped. She took one step forward and put herself directly between the two men. She turned to Tapping and stared him down until he fell silent.

"Let me tell you how this is going to go," Chris whispered. The other three men in the room unconsciously leaned forward to hear her as she marched to the front of the security chief's desk and turned to catch each of them in her stare. "Michael, you're convinced that Major Carter disappeared on purpose." She held up a hand to forestall a further outburst from O'Neill. Her partner knew better than to mess with her when she used his hated first name.

"Yes."

"Then you have six hours to come up with definitive proof of that theory. No more and no less. You are not to leave this park or interact with either of our military observers during that time. Colonel O'Neill?" Anderson rode roughshod over all opposition.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You also have six hours to come up with proof that Major Carter did _not _leave of her own free will. The same conditions apply. You will further refrain from interfering with current park activities, including the search. That goes for both of you."

Both men tried to argue with Anderson, but she was through listening. She held up her hand for silence and waited until their protests wound down. "There is also, to my knowledge, a physical search of the canyon happening now. Jonas, if the rangers have no objection would you please join that search? I will liaise with the park administration to aid any electronic surveillance they have going. Now, anyone violating the conditions I've set forth or continuing to aggravate other team members with their theories or investigating those theories without my express permission after reporting to me at the end of six hours will be off the investigation. Even if that means I'm out here on my own and despite any assurances anyone may have to the contrary. Does everyone understand?"

She had barely collected three nods in related degrees of sullenness when Chief Ludlow barreled into the room with two rangers carrying chairs in tow.

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Chris shot her companions a brief keep-your-cool look and made introductions to the short, intense man behind the desk. She and Jonas settled in beside their respective partners and no one thought it a coincidence that they were now in between O'Neill and Tapping.

"Well, it's nice to meet you all even under such poor circumstances. As you can imagine, we're mighty glad to have the FBI and... friends here to help our staff look into this mess. We just don't have the personnel to support a full time detective and our ranger patrols are mostly concentrated in the camping areas this time of year." Ludlow was dark haired and eyed and crackling with energy. The sight of such a clearly competent man eased the edge of Jack's temper. This guy might actually be some help.

"Now, I've heard from friends in the Bureau and a General… Hammond, was it? Yes. General Hammond." Ludlow's hands skittered across the desk to a memo pad with names scrawled on it and back, never settling on anything. "I got details on the four of you and one other person who's already here helping with the canyon search, Tio Murray. I understand he works with the missing woman as well?"

Tapping's eyes snapped to Jack's 'innocent' gaze and then back to Chief Ludlow. This was new information. Another military 'observer' to hamper the investigation? Great. Just great. His gaze slid to his partner's impassive expression and back to the chief.

"So," Ludlow continued, not as oblivious to the byplay as he seemed, "you all have clearance to any materials, plans or evidence we have here in the park. Anything you need, you ask my deputies here and you'll get it." Ludlow nodded to the two men in park ranger uniform still standing in the now cramped office.

"Deputy Robert Alvarez heads up the electronic monitoring department, and he's gathered all the security tapes you should need to see since the Major's arrival… almost week ago, was it? Oh, here - I see. Five days ago." The tall, solid looking ranger nodded silently and melted into stillness again. He lacked the stereotypical pale skin and weak build of someone with a serious computer habit, but his eyes carried a wealth of intelligence.

"And Deputy Andy Crosby has been in charge of the search so far." Crosby was small but well muscled, with the weathered skin of someone who spent his life outdoors. He gave a small wave and a smile that etched the lines around his eyes into crevasses. "Andy, you have those maps of where you've looked already?"

Alvarez' soft Hispanic accent broke into the brief silence. "Actually, Chief. I have something you'll want to know. All of you."

The sudden resurgence of tension in the room could have snapped piano wire. O'Neill and Tapping looked ready to shake the information from him bodily, and Chris would probably help. Alvarez' calm eyes were fastened on his boss as he waited for acknowledgement; he might not be that easy to compel.

"Have you found Sam on your security tapes?" Jonas hoped.

"No, I'm sorry, not yet. What I did find was a record of Major Carter's license plate number indexed with the entrance fee and a camping permit fee 5 days ago. She was definitely here. Or someone used her car here." Alvarez continued calmly.

"You're sure!" Tapping inquired.

"Wait, you don't know if it was Carter or not? I thought you were in charge of electronic surveillance doohickeys. Shouldn't there be something on your security cameras somewhere?" Jack questioned simultaneously.

"That's what we're looking through right now," Alvarez continued in his unruffled tenor. "We haven't had the manpower to make a real go of it. Now that we have people here who know Major Carter and her vehicle on sight, our video search should speed up considerably. As for the other, our system noted the make, model and plate number of Major Carter's car and the date it was entered when she purchased the permit. We're sure that her car was admitted to the park late Wednesday afternoon."

"Hang on, I don't get it. How can you know for a fact when Carter got here and still not be able to find her on your tapes? What's the holdup?" Colonel O'Neill scowled at the ultracalm Alvarez, who glanced at his boss for permission before answering.

"Colonel O'Neill, our accounting program downloads from remote point-of-sale nodes at each park entrance to the central computer system every four hours with the details of permit purchases. The park entrances _are _covered by camera, but there are several entrances on both the North and South Rim of the Canyon, so we have literally hours of tape to go through just to find her entry point. We know she came in five days ago sometime between 4 and 8 p.m. We need to review footage from every entrance for those four hours plus a half hour's overlap on each side to make sure we catch her. From there we can try to follow her route on foot or by camera." Alvarez' tone didn't alter, but his features tightened in frustration. Chris gave him points for investigating even that far on the bare possibility that Sam Carter _may have_ disappeared from the park. "We've done our best so far, but it's a painstaking process to note and eliminate each entry into the park. Major Carter was driving an SUV, which allows us to eliminate a few cars on sight. Unfortunately, SUVs are extremely popular in this area for ranch work and for tourists. It just takes time."

Jack tried to look stoic, but he was visibly disappointed. Chris couldn't help but sympathize. For just an instant when Alvarez interrupted, she thought this might be a quick solve before reality - and Alvarez - dashed her hopes. And she wasn't even supposed to know Major Doctor Samantha Carter. How much worse was it for Sam's co-workers? She also remembered the Colonel's recent stint as a missing person. This couldn't be easy for him.

The deputy's voice took on a tinge of hope. "Do you have any information about the Major's camping plans or interests in the park? It's been impossible for us to start searching the internal park tapes without that, but now that you're here…"

Ludlow broke in. "Robert, you can get the details from the agents reviewing the footage. Let's hear what Andy has come up with before we get into all that." Alvarez subsided into stillness again as his counterpart took the floor.

"Well, Chief, what I've got is a big load of nothing." Deputy Andy Crosby had the perky personality his fellow deputy lacked, and it shone through even on a serious subject like this. "I've got all the rangers we could pull off guest operations and that Tio fella quartering the usual spots tourists get into and then can't get out of, but no sign of her so far. We'll keep looking, but there's an awful lot of canyon to search and not a lot of manpower. I'd rather have these folks start a search of the surface than drag newbies up and down the canyon walls. No offense."

"None taken." O'Neill murmured a bit sourly. However much he'd be willing to climb to the canyon floor and back to help find his teammate, he knew his knees wouldn't hold up through the trip even if Anderson would let him go. Worse, he might hold other searchers up trying to keep him safe, and that meant fewer people actively trying to find Carter. He sighed silently and Ludlow captured his attention again.

"Well, I'll let you all get on with dividing your forces. Now, Andy and Robert here are truly my deputies in this. That means that if you hear it from them, you've heard it from me. And if you tell it to them, the same thing goes. I'm not much use in searching so I'm taking up their slack while these two help you find your Major Carter. And I hope you do find her. Anything we can do for you or give you, just ask. I'm not hedging that, either. You ask for _anything_ that doesn't endanger the people or the park here and it's yours." Ludlow's sincerity eased some of the residual tension from the room. His deputies couldn't have looked more confident in their boss or his willingness to do whatever was needed to help. All the visitors in this room could see that Ludlow was a rare find given the bureaucracies with which they were all familiar.

"Thank you, sir," the Colonel said. His eyes showed everything he didn't say. Ludlow acknowledged him with a nod as the chief gathered his papers and stood up.

"Yes, thank you Chief Ludlow." Tapping reiterated. He looked a bit annoyed by the scope of the information to pick through or perhaps the company he'd have to keep while sorting through it, but his gaze was no less admiring of the briskly efficient security chief.

Ludlow nodded to the visitors, slapped his subordinates on the back, and vamoosed.

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Ranger Andy Crosby held a swift and silent conversation with his co-deputy, Ranger Robert Alvarez. Neither wanted to put themselves in the line of ire of these 'guests', but they had significant information to impart and they both wanted to get back to their parts of the search pronto. Finally, Andy jerked his fist into the air in an abortive request for 'rock, paper, scissors'. Robert rolled his eyes and started.

"Well, you all know what we have so far, but let me explain a little bit about what it means and where we intend to go from here. We have evidence that Major Carter's car entered the park and that she, or whoever drove the car in, intended to camp on park grounds. That would usually be helpful, but the permit was never registered or tagged for violations so we can't go by that."

"Uh, sorry. Translation?" The grizzled colonel raised his hand and the other three looked just as lost.

"We know Major Carter didn't leave a record of using any campsite, nor did anyone check out on her permit using her car. When rangers come by to patrol the campgrounds, they check their handheld PCs to see if a permit has been logged under the camper's name and vehicle description. If so, they make a record of the campsite used and explain the beneficial land use policy to the campers. If not, they fine or eject the squatters.

"In this case, we know that Major Carter's car was present when a permit was purchased, but that permit was never entered as occupying a campsite on any of our rangers' PCs. We checked all the site records and stepped up the visual inspections, but there's no sign that Major Carter ever set up camp anywhere in the park. Our guys have also been asking the campers that have been here over a week if they remember seeing Major Carter or her car, but so far no hits.

"We've looked for her in the campgrounds, exhibit spaces, scenic outlooks, lodges, really in all the obvious places up here. We know she's not topside any place she should be and the park itself is too large to do a shoulder to shoulder walking search until we've exhausted all our other options. The only physical location left before we go to that is down by the river. And as many people come to see the canyon, only a few see it from the bottom up."

"Well, then why are you searching for Carter down there?" the colonel asked.

Andy broke in. "Until Robert can get us a better location from his video system, that's all we can do. We've concentrated our search on the places she could go on foot since that's usually where we find people. If they're not topside, we go into the Canyon."

Robert took the lead again. "Our video system is more for monitoring entrances or wilderness conservation projects than locating random guests, but we're trying. There are 3500 cameras within the park covering the outside areas. That sounds like a lot until you consider the space they have to cover. There are 1,904 square miles of park with 291 miles of roadway, so the cameras are spread very thin in areas. Even a lot of the main roads aren't covered. We do have footage of all the parking lots and entrances and that's what we've tried to start on. There're hours and hours to go through to find Major Carter." Alvarez seemed to lose hope for a second, but his partner captured the briefing's momentum and continued.

"Until that happens, it'd be really helpful to find her car and see if she left a note or a plan or some record of where she went and when. Even if she didn't camp, her car is still here in a parking lot somewhere and it could lead us in a direction. We could really use some manpower up here to find the car. Also, we need some people to watch the monitors and yell if they see her. However you divide up your team, I'll take the searchers and get them started on canvassing the parking lots and Robert'll set up the video team."

The deputies caught each other's eyes and waited for the explosion. They were a little disappointed when the woman and the crew cut kid turned their backs on their partners and muttered inaudibly together. Explaining their choices to their partners looked a little trickier, but both older men eventually settled down. Once an agreement was reached, they took their teams to the rangers and got a move on. No discussion or dissension allowed.

The grizzled military man and the floppy Fed were tasked with their 'individual projects' for the rest of the day and moved stiffly off in opposite directions behind a rapidly summoned pair of rangers. The crew cut kid seemed to be reassuring the little red head that Tio Murray was a good guy to have on the physical search. Finally, those two asked Robert for access to the audiovisual room. Andy was just as happy to head back to the canyon on his own.

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'Tio Murray', more properly known as Teal'c of Chulak, glided silently to a halt inside the darkened administration building. He inclined his head slightly just outside the door to the audiovisual monitoring room and extended his excellent senses. It appeared that JonasQuinn had surrendered to sleep during the Jaffa's period of kel'no'reem, leaving the room vacant of all useful activity. The Kelownan was still inside, slumped over in his folding metal chair and snoring slightly. O'Neill had already left in the company of the agents of investigation.

Teal'c frowned slightly and entered the video room. Although JonasQuinn had admirable stamina for an individual of his age and race, many hours seated in front of a video monitor had finally sapped his energy. Teal'c reactivated the monitor and began reviewing the images that unwound before his eyes. This security system was crude and inefficient; large gaps in the cameras' areas of sight made true surveillance impossible. Even these images of a North Rim entrance booth could have been improved with a minor readjustment of the camera angle. If MajorCarter's disappearance were not so pressing a concern, Teal'c would have taken RangerAlvarez aside and explained the easiest and most important ways to improve his surveillance network.

However, the mission priority was locating MajorCarter. Teal'c felt an unaccustomed twinge of guilt as he thought of his female team member. MajorCarter was an able warrior with a superior understanding of technology. He had complete confidence in her ability to defend herself under normal circumstances. No doubt deception or subterfuge had been necessary to overpower her. Except that… MajorCarter had recently exhibited unusually emotional behavior while searching for O'Neill. He remembered the day he had looked all over the SGC for her in concern, only to find her expressing feelings of sorrow and helplessness in the women's locker room. She had tried to explain her feelings but had crumpled into tears and eagerly accepted his tentative hug as she continued to weep. The Tau'ri called this a 'crying jag'.

And her mention of DanielJackson was disturbing. Although none of the members of SG-1 had forgotten their former teammate, his ascension and absence were never discussed amongst them. MajorCarter had expressed anger at O'Neill and Teal'c himself with regard to their lack of emotional expression on this topic. Had his friend needed more support than he had given her? Was there something he might have done to prevent this 'road trip'? Should he have offered to accompany her? Indeed these questions were troubling. And immaterial to the mission objective. He must concentrate on the displayed images to find any glimpse of MajorCarter. He was displeased with his wandering attention.

Less than five minutes later the tape ended without evidence of MajorCarter's presence. Teal'c replaced it with another and cued it to the beginning of the five hours he would review. As the player located the correct time, he allowed his attention to return to its peregrinations. One topic continued to snare his attention for reasons he could not fully comprehend.

He was… disappointed by O'Neill's actions. After all the worry and effort expended by the science team on his behalf, the colonel had generally thanked people and then ignored the situation. Even after Teal'c made special effort to mention MajorCarter's contribution to the search effort and her concern for their leader, O'Neill had made no effort to single her out for praise or gratitude. That was unlike the canny leader that Teal'c had followed for years. Even when MajorCarter annoyed O'Neill with unnecessarily complicated technical explanations, he had always seemed to respect her efforts. Except for the instance in which MajorCarter had been instrumental in rescuing O'Neill from Edora. Recovering the colonel from extended periods of unsought offworld residence seemed to bring out the colonel's 'bad side'. But that wasn't all that bothered Teal'c.

According to GeneralHammond, O'Neill and JonasQuinn had been informed of MajorCarter's disappearance a day before the SGC and the Jaffa resistance made contact. SG-1 had departed the SGC immediately to begin the search for their missing comrade. Although GeneralHammond indicated that JonasQuinn had recommended contacting the Jaffa and GeneralHammond had negated that idea, O'Neill as the head warrior of their team should have informed Teal'c as soon as MajorCarter's disappearance was confirmed. This lack of respect was most harmful to the harmonious and efficient functioning of their band of warriors.

In true Jaffa fashion, Teal'c had contained his displeasure during the transport to the large crevasse and his subsequent participation in the search of the river area. The rangers of this large crevasse were proficient trackers for Tau'ri, and their dedication to their quest was worthy of respect. Teal'c had no reason to express his displeasure or feelings of isolation to these rangers, so he had waited until he met O'Neill again. The Jaffa was certain that the agents of investigation remained oblivious to his subtle communication with O'Neill, but the deep frown on his face and constant reference to his team leader by both his title and surname had expressed his displeasure to 'ColonelO'Neill'.

O'Neill had taken the Jaffa aside and apologized 'for whatever it was I did' in typical flippant O'Neill style, but the rancor remained. He mulled over his response, trying to find the root of his displeasure and eliminate it. Perhaps he was constructing a tall rock formation from a subterranean rodent's home, but Teal'c could not easily forgive O'Neill's delay in requesting his assistance or forget his dismissal of MajorCarter's efforts. When he had left the service of the false god Apophis, he had sworn his allegiance to O'Neill and the other warriors who became SG-1. He had been unable to aid DanielJackson in his ascension to a higher plane of existence, but that helplessness only made him more determined to protect and comfort O'Neill and MajorCarter. A day's delay in adding his talents to the search for MajorCarter may not have made a difference to the outcome, but his honor required that he offer every assistance to those who held his oath of allegiance. O'Neill's secrecy was perilously close to dishonor in the depths of Teal'c's heart.

Suddenly, a familiar car on the monitor caught his attention. Finally, perhaps he had found MajorCarter's entry into the park! And it was she. He watched her 'chat' with the ranger who exchanged her money for a permit. With a final wave, MajorCarter drove smoothly out of camera range.

He pulled out his cellular phone to awaken O'Neill, but shut it before he completed dialing. He and Jonas were capable of tracking their teammate's progress on the surveillance system. O'Neill was unnecessary at this time. And the leader of SG-1 most assuredly needed more sleep after his recent ill health. A small evil smile crossed Teal'c's face - perhaps he should wait to inform O'Neill until tomorrow morning.

"JonasQuinn! You must awaken." Teal'c shook his teammate's shoulder vigorously.

"Wha? Teal'c? What's going on? Has something happened?" Jonas shot up into a sitting position as he rubbed his face and let the world come in to focus.

"Indeed." Teal'c allowed his relief to surface in a smile that snagged Jonas' attention.

"You found something?" Jonas demanded, rushing to his feet and stumbling over to sit before the monitor. "Oh my God! Sam! She was really here. And… and healthy and whole and fine!"

Teal'c watched Jonas' own blinding grin shoot forth to reflect and magnify the Jaffa's pleasure. "Indeed. I have located MajorCarter's entry into the park on the afternoon indicated. She arrived here through one of the westernmost entrances on the North Rim of the Large Crevasse. If you will assist me, we can follow her progress through the park."

Teal'c hardly had to ask. Jonas vaulted up and grabbed the next stack of tapes. He plunked them between Teal'c's viewing station and one he set up quickly. "It's 'Grand Canyon', Teal'c. Okay, now that we know where she came in, we have to follow her route. Can you look at those and see if she shows up on any cameras after…. 5:37 p.m.?"

Teal'c reached over and fast forwarded the next tape to the time of MajorCarter's entrance into the park. This camera seemed to watch a junction of main roads running south and east not far from the entrance. He had no idea where MajorCarter had gone in the park, but the … Grand Canyon was south of the entrance and the majority of the park was east of her entry point. He thought he had a good chance of tracking her.

"There she is!" Jonas cried, noting the time and location of her appearance on his camera on a notebook he placed between them. "Hey, Teal'c are you watching camera N72W97GL3? I think she's going there next."

Teal'c tracked Sam's car through his intersection and noted her eastward turn. Jonas located the next tape and began searching for Sam's passage as Teal'c plotted her route on a map RangerAlvarez had provided. They continued to pass off watching and plotting until her SUV came to rest in a parking lot not far from the northern rim of the canyon.

"It appears that we can no longer track MajorCarter by camera." Teal'c announced. He saw his blond teammate leave her car and stretch those familiar arms and legs in apparent satisfaction after a long drive. She wandered to the back seat and pulled out a digital camera and a canteen before locking her car and hiking in the direction of a scenic overview.

"Well, maybe there's another set of cameras that cover a wildlife study nearby. I'll look. Call me if you see anything new."

Teal'c nodded and finished noting the time and direction of MajorCarter's exit from the parking lot. Not much happened for the next ten minutes of tape, but then another vehicle pulled up just a space to the other side of MajorCarter's SUV. No one exited the van, which made him raise one eyebrow in suspicion. There were many empty spaces in the parking lot and no obvious reason for the driver to have backed in, besides aligning the main passenger doors with MajorCarter's vehicle. He continued to watch the occupied van for another 40 minutes. Then MajorCarter returned to her vehicle.

As she approached, the driver's door opened and a tall bulky man got out and faked a stretch. Two women left via the side doors and wandered to the front of the van. He could see them exchange words, most likely a greeting, with MajorCarter. His teammate smiled in return and opened the back hatch of her SUV. As the women seemed to ask her a question, the man circled further towards the camera. He just happened to flank MajorCarter and cut off her access to the hiking trail she'd come from. She spread her park map on the tailgate and indicated a spot near their current location. The women leaned over and gestured at the map as the man circled further and called out, catching MajorCarter's attention. As she turned her back on the women, one reached slowly into her bag and drew out a dark plastic bottle and a rag. The other woman moved between them, shielding her companion's actions. From what he could see of the first woman's movements, Teal'c assumed she saturated the cloth with a substance from the bottle.

"What's going on?" Jonas interrupted, distracted by the Jaffa's tense expression.

"I believe we have discovered what happened to Major Carter."

The man on the tape tried to interest their teammate in more conversation, but she smiled and began to turn around. The rest happened so quickly that Teal'c immediately rewound the tape and played it several more times. Finally, he looked up at Jonas and met the Kelownan's solemn eyes.

"I guess we'd better wake Colonel O'Neill," Jonas offered.

Teal'c's only response was: "Indeed."

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Author's Note: Yay, it's finally done! Sorry for the delay in posting, but this chapter mutated and metastasized all over the place. It's actually smaller now than it was at one point, but it's much better! And I'm trying to convince my muse that we have to write this part of the story before we get to Sam's return, but she's stubborn. Ack!

Just in case you wondered, the stats on the GC are accurate per their website except for the number of cameras. I totally made that up. The North Rim is generally wilder and less touristy than the South Rim, so it's logical to me that her car could sit there for a few days without anyone the wiser.

As for the car accident that totaled Sam's classic Volvo, I also made that up for the purposes of later plot developments. HOWEVER, if you notice her car in 'Prometheus' when the reporter corners Sam in the beginning, it's a newer Volvo. Also, in 'Nightwalkers' the silhouette of the Volvo in front of her house looks more modern than classic. I put the accident in the timeline at about the period of 'The Other Guys' – for the purposes of canon-izing it, let's say that Felger had Sam and her accident on his mind.

Please let me know also what you thought of the arguments. There are more that could come and I'd like to know if they rang true before I post more.

PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW and let me know what you liked and didn't like and why. I need feedback at this point because things are about to get more complicated and I'd like to know what you think before we get there. The more reviews I get, the faster I update!

Next Chapter: We find out what exactly T and Jonas saw. Jack tries to kick the Feds out of this particular classified sandbox. And more!


	6. Sam, Lies and Videotape part 3: Worth a ...

FHtA: Sam, Lies and Videotape pt. 3 – Worth a Thousand Words

Disclaimer: I own none of these lovely characters. I'm pretty sure I couldn't even afford the ones I made up.

Warning! Spoilers for Paradise Lost, Season Six.

The timeline shifts in this a bit, but I hope it makes sense. There's also my first action scene and I hope it comes out – PLEASE REVIEW and tell me if it was okay.

Author's Notes, as usual, afterwards.

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Audiovisual Monitoring Room

Grand Canyon National Park Administration Offices

Downtime Day 11, 5:32 a.m.

The video monitors in front of Col. Jack O'Neill, Jonas Quinn, 'Tio Murray', FBI Agents Anderson and Tapping and Ranger Alvarez were synced to a single feed from the surveillance system. The tape held the last known sighting of Major Samantha Carter. Barely three hours had passed since Teal'c and Jonas Quinn had first seen the footage; they'd made copies for the FBI (and SGC – it was on its way to Colorado before the Feds got there to object) and drawn their own conclusions as to their friend's fate. Colonel O'Neill had carpooled from the motel with the FBI agents and theoretically knew only as much as they did. But Teal'c and Jonas were his teammates and he could see the news on their faces. All that they'd accomplish here would be an official declaration that Carter was in trouble. Now, less than an hour before dawn and the canyon search's resumption, the investigators were assembled to see where this evidence would lead.

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Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

North Rim, Parking Lot 5C

Downtime Day 5, Late Afternoon

God, but this place was beautiful! Major Samantha Carter, USAF, stared out past her sunglasses into one of the natural wonders of the world. No matter how many times she came here, it never failed to fill her with awe. The reds, ochres, browns, taupe and black of these steep canyon walls told the history of the Earth itself. Not the human race or the Ancients or any other civilization that had walked its surface, but the actual formation of this piece of the world and its gradual dissolution. It took her breath away. Standing on the rim of the canyon she felt like an ant in the presence of giants, almost like she had when she first saw the Stargate.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered the first time she'd seen the approach to the canyon from the sticky backseat of the family station wagon. She'd been six years old and even the thrill of a 'girls weekend' with her mom hadn't kept her from wearing out 'are we there yet' hours ago. She'd expected mountains or hills or _some_ sign that they were getting near the immense rift her mother had described, but suddenly they were just… there. Flat, arid plains gave out onto the hugest hole she'd ever seen. And once her oddly brilliant mother had explained how rock striations were like an x-ray into the Earth's bones and the story of those bones over time, she'd been hooked on the majestic grace of this enormous tribute to the power of wind and water. This place was one of the things that she fought for when she fought for the survival of Earth.

Lately, she confessed to herself, she'd had moments wondering just what the hell she was saving, anyway. It was hard to feel triumphant coming home to an empty house after she'd worn herself to the bone to save the Earth again. Or, you know, to save her team. She sighed a little and shifted to watch the lengthening shadows on the canyon floor. Somewhere in the last few months, she'd started feeling the acid discontent of burnout like a persistent stomachache. It had been a difficult and busy year; even her team's attempts at vacation turned into a political/criminal conspiracy or an aliens-among-us crisis.

Usually when the feeling that 'there has to be more to life than this' started to grow, she and Daniel would decide during one of their late night/early morning coffee breaks to take the next evening off and have their very own 'science twin' night. They'd watch some movie that one or the other wanted to see or thought they'd get a kick out of mocking – making Daniel see the remake of The Mummy was one of the better ideas she'd had – while eating take out and throwing popcorn at Sam's big screen TV. She'd mix Daniel some fruity alcoholic concoction complete with a little umbrella or he'd choose 7 or 8 different ice cream toppings and demand that she eat one of the famous Jackson banana splits.

Eventually they'd get drunk or sugar-high enough to tell deep dark secrets. Daniel was the only teammate who knew just exactly how she'd learned to pick locks, shoot pool and ride motorcycles as a teenager. She was equally sure she was the only person in the SGC who knew that he was a licensed massage therapist in the State of California and had used it to pay for his extras in college. They'd take a night off to enjoy life on the planet they were saving and go back to their labs the next day with zipped lips and a renewed zeal for the job. But now that Daniel was… gone… she had no one to ward off the blues with.

She sighed and closed her eyes, savoring a rich, dry breeze blowing over the canyon. It wasn't like she was alone. Teal'c had tried so hard to look out for her this last month. Whether he'd seen some small sign that put him on alert or just heard the tone of her voice when she told SG-1 their CO had vanished in the company of Maybourne, he'd stayed near her the whole time the colonel was missing. He would set up his meditation candles near her work site or bring her food she didn't really want to eat with a raised eyebrow that dared her to deny him. He didn't hang out in her lab because Jaffa didn't really 'hang out' much, but he would find a way to help with her projects or occupy a corner of the room with his own investigations. As much as she'd been fixated on finding and rescuing the colonel, she couldn't help but appreciate Teal'c's shoulder to cry on. Literally and metaphorically.

And Jonas had been helpful in his own way. She'd been sincere a few weeks ago when she told him that he was a full fledged member of SG-1 and doing a good job at it. He'd pored over the archives of every dig that Maybourne had had access to, searching for pictures or notes on the mysterious 'key' that had vanished with the colonels. He'd even ganged up with Teal'c to drag her to the gym occasionally so she could help teach the klutzy Kelownan to spar - and thereby get some of her frustration out. The rest of the time he'd left her alone. Keeping his distance was not Jonas' natural tendency, so she appreciated his sensitivity all the more.

Janet had dragged her bodily off base a night or two a week with the excuse that Cassie was worried about Jack and wanted to see Sam and Teal'c to make sure the rest of SG-1 was still okay. Whether or not the teenager actually _wanted_ to make time in her busy social schedule was less clear, but Sam had to appreciate their efforts to distract her. At least Janet had refrained from sedating Sam or slipping Valium into her coffee as she had threatened to do somewhere in week three. The major had to give a wry grin as she thought of Janet conspiring with her other guardian angels on the care and feeding of one super stressed Samantha Carter.

Honestly, she supposed she should've taken this impending case of blah to Janet and seen what her best female friend could do to help. But that meant confessing her mental state to the base's CMO, who had a duty to report any instability to the dreaded Dr. Mackenzie. Janet was still her best friend and would never narc on her if given a choice, but there were things her planet bound sister-in-arms just didn't get about the joys and panic of being part of a front line team. Sam was desperate to get her team member back above and beyond any personal feelings she may have – may have, right, Janet knew her better than that – _may have _ brought to the search.

Sam sighed. She'd not only missed Colonel O'Neill, she'd missed _Colonel _ O'Neill. She was flattered that General Hammond would want her to lead SG-1 and it wasn't a huge surprise. What had come as a shock to Sam was how little she wanted it if it meant she didn't have the colonel's leadership to rely on in the field anymore. As much as she hated some of the orders he'd given her – betraying the Replicator Fifth, setting a naqahdah reactor to overload and take out one of the two civilizations trying to colonize the same planet and dozens of other, smaller examples – she'd had faith that O'Neill knew what he was doing. He and Teal'c had her back while she went off into a scientific trance and let her curiosity take her in unimaginable directions. She wanted her own command, was confident that she could handle her own command, was probably overdue for her own command… but some part of her was grateful that in the end she could just be 'following orders'. And this wasn't the way she wanted to get to be CO of an offworld team. Learning that she was on the short list of candidates to head SG-1 was much less of a thrill than she thought it'd be.

And that brought up a whole 'nother can of worms. All her life she'd had a dream of perfection for her career, her family and her romantic relationships - yes, Virginia, feminists _can_ want the fairy tale. Her wry smile remembered coming up with that phrase on a girls' night out. She wanted a fabulous and fulfilling career complete with the respect of her military and academic peers, but she also wanted the white picket fence with a dog in the yard, 3 or 4 kids, a yummy, intelligent, honorable husband who respected her and her work, and eventually retirement as General Carter. Simple, right? Now she knew that she didn't want that last part if she had to climb the chain of command over the bodies of people she loved. And maybe that was melodramatic, but she'd had quite a bit of drama this last year - it just seemed to follow her path.

The path she was currently on would lead to a fabulous fulfilling career complete with interstellar respect and fear, yes. She would continue on as part of the flagship first contact team for her planet, which was an honor and a privilege and sometimes a terror – plus the funny dresses, can't forget the funny dresses. She didn't regret all the time and adventure she'd put into her career, which she wouldn't give up for anything. Well, almost anything. Okay, almost any_one_. And maybe she'd even find a man to share her life with before the alarm on her biological clock got too loud to be ignored. But not if she kept crying for the moon, throwing herself heart and soul into her work and after a man too emotionally constipated to meet her halfway. Not if she kept her personal life on pause, holding herself isolated while waiting for a day that might never come!

Sam fisted her hands in her hair and gave a gentle, frustrated yank. Man, she needed a vacation! She never had been too good at this relaxation thing and apparently it didn't matter if it were equations or personal relationships that made her mind spin off in mad directions. She just thought too damn much. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind of all the distractions that capered through her consciousness.

The breeze picked up and caressed her frown with gentle gusts of comfort. It almost felt like a friend's hand stroking her tense cheeks until they relaxed into a mask of peace. She breathed out again and tried to find that rock solid sense of herself she relied on. This was a place to release her burdens, not pick them up and show them off. Her mother had told her on their first trip here that no matter how difficult her life got, she never had enough trouble to fill the canyon. So she liked to come here every couple of years and dump her problems over the edge. She and Sam had held their cupped hands over the cliff on this very spot and poured their grief and distress after her brother's long illness into the canyon and out of their lives. Sam smiled with her eyes still closed and repeated the long abandoned gesture. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the point of her journey to see Mark and his family – a time away from her usual life to renew her energy and enthusiasm for the parts of her life she loved.

Sam opened her eyes just in time to catch the edge of sunset sinking shadows into the canyon. It almost looked like the darkness of her thoughts was pouring into the hollows and depths before her. She reminded herself to get up in time to see sunrise and feel the darkness evaporate in the intense light of a new day. She would have to remember to tell Meg and Jessica about this once she got to San Diego. After all, it was a Carter woman tradition. Sam's tender grin lit her face as she turned towards the parking lot and the business of setting up camp. Her thoughts spun lightly over making this a yearly happening with the women in her family. She couldn't have realized that it would be years before she was able to return.

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Audiovisual Monitoring Room

Grand Canyon National Park Administration Offices

Downtime Day 11, 5:57 a.m.

Agent Michael Tapping of the FBI drummed his fingers on the side of his monitor, ignoring the dirty looks he got from the colonel and the big black guy. The victim, Samantha Carter, had arrived at the parking lot and gone down to the scenic outlook. Now they were watching… nothing. No changes had occurred in the parking lot in the last ten minutes and he desperately wanted the remote control. Before he could figure a way to wrestle it from CrewCutKid's hands, his partner spoke.

"Mr. Murray?" Anderson asked politely, her voice just a bit impatient.

"I would prefer that you call me… Tio, AgentAnderson," the big guy rumbled. His eyes stayed glued to the tape, so something must be coming up soon.

"Tio, then. And I'm Chris," she was still polite but obviously annoyed at the niceties they had to observe. "Could you tell me, Tio, when the next event on the tape takes place? I assume we're not going to watch the parking lot in real time for the next few hours."

"Indeed. Continue to watch for… two minutes and thirty-seven seconds." His deadpan voice gave no hint of irony, although the remark would be scathingly sarcastic from anyone else's mouth. Tapping saw his partner clench her teeth and nod.

"As much as all this … nothing is fascinating, is there a _reason_ we're still watching it? How long after that do we see what happened to Carter?" O'Neill interjected. Tapping would've bet money that the colonel was the first to break the silence of concentration that hung over the whole room, but he seemed subdued this morning. Whether it was sleep deprivation or something else, Tapping couldn't know. Presumably they were all in the dark except for CrewCut and 'Tio', but the frown line bisecting the colonel's forehead was abyssally deep this morning.

"Please observe the next moments carefully. JonasQuinn and I have taken all the information we can from this sequence, but we wish to confirm our opinions. The tape is no longer than an hour, but we believe that most of those images can be fast-forwarded. Have you not found that careful observation prevents foolish assumptions, O'Neill?" The colonel gaped at his counterpart for a moment before snapping his jaw shut and giving a tight nod. Tapping inwardly applauded the intra-observer smackdown. Take _that_, O'Neill!

Suddenly, a light silver van pulled into camera range and backed into the spot behind Major Carter's car. From the camera's perspective you had to watch the doors of the van through the windows of the victim's SUV. And he watched. And watched. And stated the obvious.

"Uh, nothing's happening."

"Precisely!" CrewCutKid agreed. Tapping, Anderson and O'Neill exchanged wary, puzzled glances.

"Okay, I'm confused," the colonel admitted.

Ranger Alvarez, surprisingly enough, answered the question. "Well, why is that the case? Most people who come to the park get out of their cars ASAP and look around. Whether it's a campsite or an overlook, people don't just sit there unless the temperature's freezing or boiling."

Tio looked pleased. "Indeed. This lack of motion appeared significant to JonasQuinn and I. We hoped you could compile the details of this automobile beyond the license plate. That we have already." His head tilted towards a notebook between his monitor and the colonel's. "I believe you call it the 'make and model'?"

Anderson gave the guy an odd look. "Indeed," she echoed, as if he had suddenly become a puzzle. She cocked her head at the tape and muttered, "Chevy conversion van, 2003, no side windows behind the doors, extra tint on the inset windows, front windows and windshield tinted to the legal limit, standard configuration with no extension to the body. Light silver, standard hubcaps, no commercial or personal markings, no obvious damage."

O'Neill raised his scarred eyebrow and Anderson flushed. "What?" she defended. "I like cars. You can tell a lot about a person by their car."

"Like what?" CrewCutKid burst in, his sorrowful expression giving way to a puppy's insatiable curiosity.

"First, is there anything else we need to see before Sa- Major Carter comes back to her car?" Tapping's antennae rose at the unintended slip. Did Anderson just call the victim by her first name?

"No. Well, except that the people in the van stay there until she gets back." Jonas' bright eyes fixed on Anderson's slight frown and rested there. Even Tio looked mildly interested, which was about the extent of expression Tapping had seen on his face so far.

"Okay," Anderson breathed, her eyes silently asking Tapping to continue watching the tape. He nodded but kept his ears open; he wanted to know what other clues his partner might accidentally drop. "Well, vans with no side windows tend to be commercial vehicles. Private owners almost always get as many windows as they can. The lack of extension cuts down on its commercial applications, though. And it has no logo on the side identifying a business. Plus the standard hubcaps imply but don't prove that it's not used for heavy hauling. If it were an outdoor use vehicle for this area it would probably have better off road tires. Those looked normal from what I can see. Um, Ranger Alvarez? Can you get me a detail shot of the tires as well as the windows? And of course we'll need the best images you can get of any activity in the van, although I don't see any now." He nodded and she continued. "The last thing to note - well, two things really: one, there's no damage we could trace to an accident report; two, the tinting suggests that the owner wants privacy for himself or his passengers but not enough to apply for a waiver to the tinting laws. Bottom line? The vehicle is suspicious in this context and the license plates may be stolen or the tag information may be falsified. I wouldn't be surprised to find that it's a missing fleet vehicle from some corporate car lot."

"Or government agency," Tapping muttered without taking his eyes from the TV screen. O'Neill and the others studiously ignored him.

"Oh," CrewCut said, sounding impressed.

"Indeed," Tio concurred. Tapping could hear him shifting in his seat and then the video feed went blurry as it began to fast forward. As advertised, approximately forty minutes further into the recording the image settled again. They all leaned in to catch the next event.

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Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

North Rim, Parking Lot 5C

Downtime Day 5, Just Before Sunset

Sam hiked up the trail and onto the concrete stairs to the mostly empty parking lot. It didn't look much different except for a silver van parked next to her SUV. It was parked backwards so that the passenger's side faced her car, which was a bit odd but not worrisome. She was halfway to her car when the doors opened and her neighbors got out.

Two brunettes, one her height and one a bit shorter, clambered out of the side exit chattering about catching the sunset. The driver also emerged, his bulky frame stretching out road kinks as he wandered towards the trailhead. Sam smiled a cheerful greeting to him and made her way to the back of her vehicle. She almost made it there before she was waylaid by the two women.

"Hey, excuse me?" the taller one said, coming between Sam and the van.

"Yeah?"

"Would you happen to have a map of the park? We had one when we started this morning but it's escaped," she smiled wryly.

Sam laughed a bit. "Yeah, sure. Hang on a minute." She rummaged in the driver's side door and carried her new map to the tail gate.

"Oh, hey. Thanks…"

"Samantha."

"Samantha. I'm Amy and this is Alice." The taller woman gestured to a shorter one to her side and they exchanged polite nods. "Could you show us where we are now? I know our campsite is on the North Rim near one of the middle entrances, but I got all turned around on the way in."

"That's the last time you get to be navigator," Alice muttered, fingering her oversize purse as Sam put the tailgate down and spread out her map.

"Oh, yeah? Well who forgot to get a second map at the last pit stop?" Amy shot back playfully.

"I still think the first's tucked in with your CDs."

"I _ told _ you I looked already!" Amy frowned.

Sam cut in before they could go another round. "Here's the scenic outlook point, here. That's where we are. The middle entrances are overrrrrr…" Sam traced her finger over the paper, and then stabbed, "there!"

"Hah!" Amy crowed. "We weren't that far off. See?"

"Are you two done arguing yet?" The bulky man from the driver's seat had circled around and come to rest about ten feet away from the women on the opposite side of Sam. "I'm really sorry, Miss…"

"Carter. Samantha Carter. And it's no problem." Sam faced him and smiled, although a tiny tingle in the back of her neck had her suddenly alert. Her spidey sense was not liking this situation all of a sudden, or maybe the approach of an unknown guy almost as big and built as Teal'c was setting off some single-woman-traveling-alone radar. She eased back towards the women but settled as he made no move to get closer.

"Well, _I _appreciate it," he smiled reassuringly. "Amy and Alice are great company alone, but put them in a van for a few hours and you have the makings of a migraine. That's the problem with sisters."

"Are you all related?" Sam didn't really see it besides the common dark hair. This guy was shaped like a tank while the women were slim and fit.

"Yeah. Amy and Alice are sisters and I'm their half-brother. Same father, different mothers. We grew up taking a vacation every summer and just kind of kept the tradition. We make it a rule every year that we have to decide on the next place before we leave this one. Usually it's in June, but this was the only week we could all get off. Alice is getting married in July and she and Amy are going to be crazy with that for a few months." He babbled eagerly, smiling at her. Sam got the vague sense that he was trying to keep her attention focused specifically toward him, and not in the flirty sense.

Sam's spidey sense tingled more forcefully behind her and she started to turn back to the women with a question on her lips. Amy had come up fairly close behind Sam, blocking her view of Alice, who was bending over her bag. "Are you through with the map?"

"Please say yes. Please say yes," the bulky guy joked from a spot much closer to her back than he had been. Sam cut her eyes toward him but ignored the increased tingling in her nape. Amy was now just out of arm's reach.

"Almost," Amy replied, shifting her weight to keep Alice from Sam's view.

"About time!" the man snarled, his voice going cold. He sounded almost as close to her as Amy, as if they had her purposefully bracketed.

Sam didn't wait for the attack she'd been subconsciously expecting for the last few seconds. She snapped her leg back and caught the stunned guy in the solar plexus. As he toppled forward she brought her forearm into his throat, using his momentum against him. He went down gasping and she turned her attention to the women.

"HEY!" Amy yelled, still keeping her cover. She shifted towards the back of the SUV, exposing Sam to the lunge of a rag and bottle bearing Alice.

Sam smoothly stepped into the lunge, throwing an elbow at the unprotected side of Amy's head on the way by. She caught the tall brunette perfectly, clipping the soft area of exposed temple with the bony point of her elbow. Amy went down, clearly expecting Sam to try to run from Alice rather than charge her. Sam feinted left away from Alice's rag bearing hands, whirling to avoid the woman's high block that left her other side exposed to Sam's fist. The digital camera swinging from Sam's wrist made another impact on Alice's side with the force of her hand plus the whiplash of the carrying strap. Her opponent's eyes went wide for a second, then narrowed in anger. Sam kept her guard up and listened for the sounds of 'Bulky' or Amy recovering while her eyes stayed pinned to Alice, who had dropped her rag in favor of the open bottle and her large purse.

Alice choked up on the long straps of her bag and whirled it in a circle beside her body. Sam could see that there were several heavy things inside, though none looked like a weapon. Of course, a fully loaded purse on a short string like that could be a weapon in its own right. She dodged carefully back as the two women began to circle away from the SUV.

"Who are you!" Sam demanded, trying to catch her opponent's fighting style from the way they circled. "What do you want with me?"

The brunette didn't answer, although a smirk crept onto her face. Sam took the momentary distraction to kick at the offending purse and punch low to the other woman's ribs. Alice had been expecting something like this, so she just grunted and threw the contents of the bottle in Sam's face with her other hand as the major's body closed in to make contact. Sam dodged most of the slinging liquid at the cost of a hefty splash of it on her chest and a follow up punch to her stomach as Alice's empty fist came down. She'd never been so grateful for sit-ups in her entire life. The wall of muscle absorbed most of the blow, but the impact made her gasp and inhale the fumes rising from the damp patch on her shirt. She suddenly felt lightheaded and woozy, realizing that whatever that liquid was she needed it off her and fast.

Sam gathered herself again and danced beyond Alice's reach, forcing the smaller woman to commit herself first. Never taking her eyes off her assailant or her ears off the other two, Sam yanked the bottom of her tank top up and clumsily gathered the shirt around her neck as she held her breath. Alice's charge took advantage of any distraction on Sam's part as she stripped down to her bra and cast the fume-bearing shirt aside. As Alice approached her, fists upraised, Sam pulled a double feint right-left and ended up with an outstretched arm clenched in a fist. Her previous casual seeming footwork put her in a perfect place for a clothesline that knocked Alice literally for a loop, landing her on her back with the breath knocked out of her. Sam followed up with a ruthless heel strike to the side of the other woman's head that put her down for the count.

As Sam spun on her heels to check the other people she'd knocked silly, she silently thanked Teal'c for being irresistible. She remembered the source of her updated melee skills that might have just saved her hide. She advanced on a motionless Amy, who looked like she might have hit her head on Sam's tailgate on the way down.

A month before the mission to Maybourne's Moon, as the colonel insisted on calling it, Teal'c had made an unusual appearance at her lab. Teal'c rarely sat to chat, preferring to stand vigilant near whatever door was most likely to admit intruders. He took up his standard place and gazed at his teammate, only the tension of his shoulders indicating his discomfort.

"What's up?" Sam asked, studying his expression. It flickered between amusement and annoyance as he processed her idiom, then settled into that barely there frown of concern she'd noted before.

"MajorCarter, I believe that the SGC's physical training does not sufficiently emphasize tactics for use against multiple unarmed opponents."

"You think I can help you… correct that?" Sam let only a bit of her rampant curiosity leak into her voice. Not that she wasn't happy to be asked, but she doubted she was first on the Jaffa's list of able unarmed warriors.

"Indeed. I would appreciate your assistance in designing a program of study. JonasQuinn in particular could benefit from such training. Perhaps he will agree to help us as well."

Sam sat back and smiled in satisfaction. For all that Jonas was a full member of SG-1, the originals tended to treat him as a supernaturally intelligent overgrown puppy at times. The colonel was the most guilty of all, albeit mostly unconsciously. If Teal'c couched his request to Jonas in these terms and had Sam's cooperation, they could sneak some hand-to-hand combat practice into Jonas' daily routine without offending him or exposing him to more genuine O'Neill sarcasm.

"That sounds like a great idea, Teal'c. Why don't you pick a convenient time and I'll meet you and Jonas in the gym for… practical applications for the next few weeks."

Teal'c inclined his head in thanks and retreated. Their 'practical work sorting out elements of the curriculum' had gotten Jonas a lot closer to Teal'c's standard over the next few weeks, and he and Teal'c had even managed to drag her out once or twice while the colonel was missing. She wondered, not for the first time, which team member Teal'c was really trying to improve.

Suddenly, Sam felt strong arms around her middle heaving her into the air. Bulky must be a lot lighter on his feet than she assumed. Dammit, she'd forgotten one of the first rules of Teal'c's lessons: never lose track of an opponent. She wriggled in the guy's grip as he pulled her off an unconscious Amy and made his way towards the van and her now saturated tank top.

Just before he had to figure out how to keep her elevated and immobilized while leaning down to get the tank top fumes to her face, Sam wrenched her head backwards and her left foot back and up. The combined force of a head butt and a shot to the crotch gained her a tiny second of freedom. Sam twisted free of Bulky's grip as he bent double to clutch his aching… heads. Sam scanned the area manically and dashed towards her car, intending to call the police before she got the hell out of there. Just as she wrenched the passenger door open to grab her cell phone, her spidey sense went wild. She stumbled into a clumsy spin and found herself looking into the eyes of yet another woman. This one was smaller and sweeter looking, but something about her screamed "DANGER" to Sam's instincts.

The smaller-than-average woman took advantage of Sam's trapped position in between the van, her car and its open door. Sam cursed silently and kicked up a slightly bent leg, catching the woman in the chest and using her own momentum to cast her back against the van. The long haired woman barely acknowledged the hit before advancing again. Sam dodged wildly as the woman grabbed at Sam's torso and pinned her against the SUV. They wrestled frantically for dominance, Sam's panic giving her an adrenaline-charged strength to match the unexpectedly tough opponent. Still, that strength was offset by the spidey sense screaming in Sam's ear, making it hard to concentrate on her attacker. She heard Bulky swearing from the back of the car and knew she would have more than one person to worry about soon. She struggled and heaved, managing to buck the long-haired woman into the edge of the extended door. Impatiently, the other woman pulled a knife as she rebounded into the major and jabbed it into Sam's bare belly.

Sam gasped and curled into a ball of pain as the woman snatched the dagger back and cut her again. Sam's arms flew up to protect her face and stomach, but the woman seemed more interested in making lots of shallow cuts than going for Sam's gut or jugular. The fire of some substance on the blade blazed as it seeped into her wounds. It gave Sam the anger-driven adrenaline to ignore her yammering instincts and fake a run for it along the side of her car. Instead, once the other woman had shifted to intercept Sam, the major viciously struck the woman's knife arm and wrenched the weapon out of her suddenly loose grip. She sprang back towards the SUV as her stomach wound throbbed in protest. Sam forced the pain of her slashed belly into the same ignored area of her mind that held the sting of salty cuts.

Panting with suddenly shallow lungs, Sam could feel the poison on the blade rushing through her system. The blade hadn't punctured her lungs, she would've felt that, but they were close enough to her circulatory system to feel the burn now. The tall blonde lunged toward her former assailant with the knife and made several hits as the long-haired menace tried to dodge her. Sam was seeing red now, literally, as the haze of pain and poison made it to her brain. She could hardly move but she made a last heroic stumble into the woman's body and stabbed her as well. Just as everything went black, she heard an anguished scream like she'd never thought to hear on Earth. All she could think was "my spidey sense… no wonder".

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The tape continued in dead silence.

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To Be Continued…

Author's Note: Okay, I'd hoped to get to the guys' reactions this chapter, but it was a choice between leaving it here at a natural stopping point (and cliffhanger – mwahahahahaha) and posting today or going on and getting bogged down for another few weeks in a too long chapter. Hopefully it'll be sooner than that before I post again, since we're getting to the meat and potatoes of the mystery here and I have a plan. Not that my characters usually agree, but I have a plan. ;-)

Oh, and I'm using a non-standard but canon spelling of the mineral Goa'uld hosts have in their bloodstream. I know for sure that I saw this spelling (naqahdah) on a TV screen in a presentation Sam was giving in the briefing room. I think it was early in Season One. The usual spelling, naquadah, comes from the closed captions. I know, it's anal, but I'm trying to get all my factoids right.

Also, PLEASE REVIEW! SuperMuchoPsychadelic Thank Yous to the people who reviewed – it made me update way sooner than I planned. Tell me what you think, what you think will happen, what you think should happen and what you think I thought you were thinking… Yeah. Just hit the little bluish purple button, 'kay? ;-)


	7. Sam, Lies and Videotape pt 4: A Formal F...

From Here to Alternity I: Canon minus A Major: Sam, Lies and Videotape, part 4 – A Formal Feeling Comes

No owning Stargate in any permutation for the likes of me. Gekko, MGM (Sony, now, I guess), SciFiChannel, Double Secret Productions, etc. can fight over the rights instead. The chapter title is also not mine; it comes from an Emily Dickinson poem: "After great pain, a formal feeling comes."

Big Long Author's Notes to follow.

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From Here to Alternity I: Canon minus A Major: Sam, Lies and Videotape, part 4 – A Formal Feeling Comes

Previously in "From Here to Alternity":

_Panting with suddenly shallow lungs, Sam could feel the poison on the blade rushing through her system. The blade hadn't punctured her lungs, she would've felt that, but they were close enough to her circulatory system to feel the burn now. The tall blonde lunged toward her former assailant with the knife and made several hits as the long-haired menace tried to dodge her. Sam was seeing red now, literally, as the haze of pain and poison made it to her brain. She could hardly move but she made a last heroic stumble into the woman's body and stabbed her as well. Just as everything went black, she heard an anguished scream like she'd never thought to hear on Earth. All she could think was "my spidey sense… no wonder". _

… … … … … … … … …

_The tape continued in dead silence. _

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Video Surveillance Monitoring Room, Administration Building

Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

Downtime Day 11, very early morning

The entire investigative team watched the end of the surveillance video with grim concentration. Jonas and Teal'c analyzed the images impassively, having seen this before. Agent Tapping was sucking down prospective clues like an info junky in need of a fix. Both Agent Anderson and Colonel O'Neill looked like they'd lost their best friend. Ranger Alvarez coolly split his focus between the video and his colleagues. A darkening view of the empty parking lot continued to broadcast as he cleared his throat and began his analysis.

"So, Major Carter drops her assailants – bam bam bam." He mimicked the major's elbow throw, head butt and clothesline in small scale as every eye in the room turned his way. "Then she runs for the _passenger_ side of the vehicle. Why?"

"I believe that MajorCarter intended to retrieve her cell phone in order to summon the authorities," Teal'c explained.

"Did you see the cell phone on the tape?" Tapping inquired.

"I did not." Teal'c admitted. "However, MajorCarter is a proficient warrior. If she intended to escape immediately she would have chosen to enter her vehicle on the driver's side." The unsaid _moron_ hung silently in the air.

Alvarez nodded and continued to act out his narrative in miniature. "Okay, so we think she goes for the phone. Then she jumps like she's been shocked and turns to the last attacker. It didn't look like the other woman said anything to alert her, so I guess your friend heard her come up from behind." No one disagreed, so the ranger proceeded. "They fight, bam bam bam and the big guy starts to get up," Alvarez jerked a thumb towards the side of him the man would have been on if the re-enactment were actually taking place. "The major makes her move to escape," and Alvarez imitated Sam's dodging, looking oddly like a mime having a seizure. His next movement, however, scuttled all amusement in the room, "and the woman stabs her."

The members of SG-1 and Agent Anderson visibly tensed at his sharp motion. Alvarez noted the agent's anomalous response as he continued to act out his words. "The assailant goes in for a few more hits, the vict… major puts up her arms and gets defensive wounds. The major makes a break for it, fakes her attacker out and grabs the knife – nice moves, by the way."

Silence greeted his quasi-conversational sally. Teal'c looked like he was stuck between pride and irritation as he stared back at Alvarez. The ranger went on, "the major struck back, was giving the same kind of defensive wounds she got, then bam bam" as he threw in a few illustrative bobs and weaves "stabs the assailant back. Then, still holding the knife, she passes out as the attacker screams bloody murder."

Agent Anderson winced at his unfortunate turn of phrase. Alvarez flushed but persevered in his reconstruction. "Now, I didn't get a really good look at it, but from the way she was moving before she collapsed, I don't think the major's stomach wound was, um… fatal." O'Neill's face went completely expressionless as Alvarez hurried helplessly on. "I mean, she didn't seem to be bleeding too badly. And they picked her up pretty carefully and seemed to give her some kind of first aid in the van. Plus, they weren't in a big hurry, which they probably would have been if anybody needed immediate medical attention. So I don't think Major Carter's dead."

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Jonas Quinn carefully reached out and stopped the video playback. The room was so quiet in the wake of Alvarez' last comment that he could hear the individual breaths of the people around him. Colonel O'Neill seemed to be trying for control with his even exhalations, but Jonas could see the strain just below the surface. He didn't know _exactly _what Sam Carter meant to the older man, but he'd been around the SGC long enough to pick up the gist of it. And from the shallow gulps of Agent Anderson he could tell that this wasn't just another case for her. Tapping and Teal'c both seemed to almost forget to breathe as they watched their colleagues struggle with the possibility that Sam was… that she hadn't been able to… that the attack was more serious than they could tell. He couldn't even bring himself to say the 'd' word about his friend. A sharp ache in his chest made him aware that he was holding his own breath.

The whole investigative team seemed to linger in a bubble of suspended emotion. Not even Tapping wanted to break the silence and let reality come crashing over them. Jonas knew that someone had to speak up and kick start the investigation again. As much as he hated the thought, it looked like it'd have to be him.

"Okay, well, that's all Tio and I could find from this camera. We have the van making its way undisturbed to the nearest exit, and from there it made a turn to the west. It's all scattered on other tapes, but we figured you'd all want to see what happened to Sam…" Jonas found his throat closing up as the mood in the room wavered. As much as he had known what the tape would show his friends and as much as he tried to keep a stiff upper lip, he was upset. They were all trying so desperately to believe that there was no way Sam could be… dead, but she was last seen injured in enemy hands. The logical conclusion was inescapable.

No one else jumped into the silence, so Jonas cleared his throat and doggedly tried again. "Well, whoever analyzes the tape for more details can put that exit footage together. And the footage of the van on the way in might be helpful as well." He cleared his throat again, aware of Teal'c and Tapping's eyes on him. Colonel O'Neill was staring at the screen as if he could make the fight come out differently if he just concentrated hard enough. Chris Anderson's chin was tucked into her chest and she seemed to be fighting for calm.

"I guess the first order of business is to redirect the canyon search," Alvarez added quietly, shooting Jonas a grateful glance for his intervention. "We need a CSI team out here to collect evidence from the parking lot, but we could use the search teams to try and find anything the assailants may have left in the gaps between cameras."

Jonas nodded, grateful that the ranger had used the word 'left' instead of 'dumped'. According to the cop shows he'd watched, you left clues but bodies you dumped. Alvarez went on, "we also need to trace the license plate and VIN number of the van. And see if we can get better shots of their faces. Doesn't the FBI have some kind of facial recognition software?"

Tapping glanced at his withdrawn partner before he replied. "Yes, we do. And we're tied into a national network. If you can get me onto the 'net, I can access FBI, TSA, CIA, NSA and maybe even Interpol records. I also think we need to narrow down the attackers' movements in the van before the victim arrived. They might have a traceable item we could pick out or we could possibly read their lips if the angle's right. And, of course, we need to put out an APB for Major Carter and the others."

"I could call a couple of friends in the State Department of Transportation and maybe get them to pull the camera feeds from any surrounding roads around the time we think they left. And we could send some of the searchers to canvass gas stations and hospitals in the area to see if they stopped to refuel or get medical treatment," Alvarez offered.

"Okay," Jonas said, relieved to have some sort of plan. "So… Teal'- _Tio _and I're most familiar with the tape, so I guess we should stay and work on the video with Agent Tapping and Ranger Alvarez. Agent Anderson and Col. O'Neill could work with the crime scene investigators?" He didn't mean for that last statement to be a question, but his CO and the agent in question finally looked like they were coming around. Hopefully they could come up with improvements to the plan.

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"Tio's coming with us," O'Neill insisted. Every pair of eyes in the room latched onto his coldly determined face. "Anderson can supervise the CSI team and Tio can catch anything that we might miss."

A small silence was broken by Tapping's muted challenge. "And what will you be doing, Colonel O'Neill?"

The deep brown eyes that met the agent's gaze were bleak and cold… and furious. "I need to see her car."

It didn't take much for people skills – which was good because the male agent really didn't have many – to see that the tape had horrified O'Neill. An expressionless mask of neutrality settled on the colonel's face, but not before they could all see how blazingly helpless the 'big tough military man' felt at seeing his 2IC bleeding and beaten. As much as he disliked the colonel, Tapping could replace Major Carter's face with Anderson's and know exactly what the man was going through. The lanky agent suppressed a shudder as he looked away from both the tape _and_ his partner.

A thin, controlled soprano voice came from the back of the room. "I need to inform the Deputy Director that we now have evidence of a crime committed on Federal property. Given that the van's plates were from Nevada, we can safely assume that there's enough of an interstate component to give the FBI jurisdiction. He'll probably authorize our use of the local office and its resources." The men in the room, including Tapping, watched their lone female companion straighten her spine and wrap cool competence around her like armor. Her misery seeped through anyway.

"Tio, could you drive us to the parking… the crime scene? I'd like to leave in fifteen minutes, if that's possible. Colonel O'Neill? We can contact our superiors now and continue the less sensitive conversations on the way to the site." Teal'c nodded in agreement as O'Neill opened his mouth to argue, agree or comment. Anderson had already moved on.

"Ranger Alvarez, could you coordinate local response and get their resources deployed up here? Redirect the search, etc." Alvarez didn't waste his time acknowledging her, but picked up the office phone and began dialing. Tapping could see the compassion in the ranger's expression as he turned away.

Chris completed her circuit around the room with her arms locked firmly around her middle. Tapping saw the sudden stiffness of Tio and O'Neill as they saw her gesture. He couldn't have known that both men felt a painful twinge as they saw the small woman take up Daniel Jackson's characteristic pose.

"Jonas, Michael…" she sighed. Her cool voice left no room for emotion or dissent as she laid out the last of the assignments. It didn't reassure any of them. Her partner could almost _see_ the cracks in her façade widening as she let his first name slip out. "Let us know when you find something. We all have each other's cell numbers." With a brief nod, she exited the room and moved away from the doorway at a deliberately calm pace. They could hear her heels click slowly until she paused and gave a choked sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. It repeated, then they heard her turn and walk quickly in the direction of the ladies' room.

Jonas and Alvarez, the unofficial movers and shakers of the last few moments, exchanged glances. It didn't sound to any of them as if Agent Anderson was as cool and unaffected as she wanted to seem. However, before either of them could formulate a casual enough suggestion, Teal'c spoke up.

"AgentTapping, I believe AgentAnderson requires your assistance," the Jaffa stated baldly.

"She probably wants to be alone," Tapping contradicted uneasily. He had the look of a guy desperately avoiding an inevitable confrontation. He had no idea what to do with a crying woman, much less a crying partner.

"Regardless of her wishes, I do not believe it is wise to allow her to be solitary at this time." None of them could miss the steely resolve behind Teal'c's polite remark.

Tapping got slowly to his feet, frowning. "Okayyyy. I'm gonna… go check on Chris. Maybe you guys could… get yourselves some coffee?" Tapping's suggestion was wordlessly accepted when they saw the honest distress on his face. Whatever his faults or hesitations, Tapping genuinely cared about Anderson.

He jogged after his tiny partner, calling out her name as the redhead pulled further and further ahead.

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Tapping's long legs closed the gap just as Anderson went through the door to the ladies' room. He cursed her speed silently as he shifted from foot to foot. How was it possible that a high school track star could be outpaced by an ex-karate kid in heels?

"Hey, Anderson, I know you're in there! Anderson, c'mon, what's the problem?" He listened to the absolute silence surrounding him and tried again. Still no response.

A female ranger passed him in the hall and gave him an odd look that elicited a pained smile in return. "I'm not gonna stand out here all day, Anderson!" he threatened. Hearing no retort, he gingerly pushed the door open. "Anderson?"

He saw her braced against the metal sink with locked arms flanking her bowed head. "Hey, Anderson? What's wrong?" A tiny shudder worked its way along her spine as he let the door swing closed behind him. Oh, great. Just great. How was he supposed to make this better when he didn't even know what the matter was? Give him data to analyze, a suspect to profile, anything technical and he could knock it out of the park. But emotional stuff was firmly in his partner's jurisdiction. It just wasn't _fair_ of her to go all girly on him like this.

"Nothing," she rasped. "Go ahead and call in for us."

Normally he'd be all over that suggestion, but he considered the enormous black guy waiting back in the video room and thought better of it. "It's not nothing or you wouldn't be acting like this. Now tell me what's going on."

He saw her head shake and fought to keep from snapping at her. Bad enough that she was ignoring him, but he was in a freakin' girl's bathroom and he couldn't leave until she came with. He opened his mouth to demand her explanation when a mental voice cut through his anger. It sounded way too much like the memory of Chris Anderson and his little sister at the last family Christmas party. They'd gotten him a 'female survival kit' that was apparently to help the women in his life survive his company – a season of Tivo-ed 'Oprah' episodes, a book about men and women being from different planets and a bracelet that held the initials W.W.D.P.D. Apparently it stood for "What Would Doctor Phil Do?" He hadn't thought it was all that funny, but he had to admit that he used the information to improve his interrogation techniques for female suspects. And to get his partner to do what he wanted.

He gentled his voice and awkwardly moved to stand behind her, putting his hands cautiously on her stiff shoulders. "Chris? What is it? Talk to me."

She shrugged his hands off and wrapped her arms back around herself silently. He stared at the veil of strawberry red hair eclipsing her face and made himself wait. Patience, calm, let her tell her story. Don't solve the problem, that's not what she wants. Sensitivity frustrated the hell out of him.

She sucked in a lungful of air, held it… and faced him with dry eyes.

He scrutinized her ravaged expression as her blue eyes skittered away from his. "This is a _women's _restroom, Michael" she scolded weakly.

"I know. Chris, please…" his frown deepened as his hand reached out for her again. She drew even further back and it dropped to his side. "Just tell me what's wrong. Please." He waited until she met his eyes before continuing slowly. It wasn't in the 'women are nuts and here's why' handbook with the planet title, but he thought he'd found the problem. "I need to know… is this about the Mesarin case?"

Her eyes met his with an unreadable expression. There was pain there as he brought up an undercover assignment two years ago that had left her on life support from multiple stab and gunshot wounds. She'd managed to put the memories behind her, mostly, and he'd hoped she wouldn't relive her emergency surgery and months of recovery. Her reaction to the tape had taken that hope away, which was partially why he'd concentrated on it so intensely. He knew she'd have bigger problems right now than trying to assimilate the information they'd just seen.

But there were layers of emotion in her eyes that he couldn't understand. Underneath her obvious pain he saw fear and sorrow swirled in a whirlpool of something older and deeper still. He stayed silent and watched her re-establish control of a maelstrom of overpowering feelings.

"Some of it… brings back Mesarin," she admitted quietly. "I don't think I'll ever be able to watch someone get stabbed or shot again, even on TV, and not flash back to that moment. It wasn't the same circumstance at all, and yet…"

Tapping nodded slowly. "I know. I watched O'Neill's reaction and I couldn't help thinking 'that's just how I'd feel… that's just how I _felt_.' I'm… I'm sorry I wasn't there to back you up, Chris." He shoved his hands into his pockets and let the echoes of regret weigh him down. The rest of his statement was mumbled at the floor. "I know we had separate targets and all, but I wish I could've helped. And I know I've told you that before, but it still holds. 'M sorry."

He studied his shoes in rapt guilt until a small hand grasped his chin. He let her establish eye contact again and was startled by the determination in her gaze.

"You couldn't have known it was going to happen like that. We agreed to the division of labor ahead of time and I didn't think I'd run in to his guys either. I don't blame you." She shook his chin gently at his disbelieving stare. "_I don't_. You need to let it go. We did the best we could with what we knew at the time. It's over. Done." Her stern honesty was hypnotic.

He nodded slowly, not exactly agreeing, and watched the swirl of emotions cloud her eyes again. She continued, "I'll admit this brings it back…", then continued in a smaller voice, "but that's not all that bothers me here. It's… it's old stuff. From before we were partners."

He couldn't help the sudden near growl that escaped his lips as he morphed from Mr. Sensitive to Protective Man. "Chris? What aren't you telling me? Did somebody hurt you?"

She shook her head vigorously and replied, "No, nothing like that. It's not what you think, I can guarantee that. It's just… disturbing to watch that happen. On a lot of levels." Her blue eyes pleaded for him to drop it. And he did, for now.

He eased back to the opposite wall and watched her gather her agent's persona again as she repaired her composure. This discussion wasn't over, not by a long shot. Her pre-Bureau life had always been off limits with the exception of casual references to her family. From her tone, she got along well with them and he'd never heard anything that would make him suspect a previous history of violence. He'd let her off the hook for now. But _just_ for now.

"I'm ready," she announced softly, patting a damp paper towel over her pale face. "Let's go."

He stepped out the door ahead of her and held it. Extracting his cell phone from a suit pocket, he pushed the speed dial number for their office. She smiled, pale but grateful, as he silently handed over the phone. She gave her name to their boss' secretary and followed him back to the video room.

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Alvarez took in the body language of the military observers and rose from his chair as they watched Agent Tapping disappear down the hall.

"I need to update the Chief and Ranger Crosby. Jonas, will you be here until I get back? We need to protect the chain of custody for the video evidence." Alvarez discreetly left the team alone at Jonas' nod.

A grim silence persisted as the men of SG-1 worried about their friend and colleague and what this would mean for all their other co-workers. Even when - not if, but _when - _they got Samantha Carter back, the damage to morale would be done. The SGC had just gotten used to the fact that the legendary flagship team didn't always beat the odds. Daniel "Nine Lives" Jackson was gone. Now Carter's kidnapping would drive home their collective vulnerability again. And the men of this fractured team knew it and could do nothing about it.

The colonel jammed his hands into pants' pockets as his shoulders hunched under a leather bomber jacket. Jonas tried to meet his eyes but they were fixed on the floor. Teal'c was as straightly upright as always, but Jonas could see the weary frustration the Jaffa did not express. Whatever Teal'c's beef was with O'Neill, Jonas could see that the unresolved tension was taking an extra toll on both of them. And Jonas was at a loss as to how to fix it.

"Umm, Colonel O'Neill?" Jonas ventured.

O'Neill lifted frustrated brown eyes to his but didn't reply.

"Why did you want to take Teal'c to the, uh, to the crime scene, really?"

"Because he can sense naqahdah," came the terse response.

Teal'c's eyebrow shot up towards his ball cap. This wasn't the answer he was apparently expecting. "Indeed?"

O'Neill's mouth turned up in a wry parody of a smile. "Well, yeah. We know you can track and find, ya know, _anything_, but what I really need is someone to tell me if we can let the Feds gather their evidence or not."

"Why wouldn't we?" Jonas frowned.

"Think about it, Jonas!" O'Neill snapped, waving his arms in exasperation. "Carter's blood contains naqahdah. Naqahdah is classified. Therefore, Carter's blood can't be allowed to get into every lab from here to Phoenix to D.C. Can you imagine what'll happen if the lab geeks find some metal in the samples that's like literally _nothing _on Earth? The general'd have to classify this whole investigation!" He didn't let the phrase 'Carter's blood' provoke any visible response.

"But -" Jonas couldn't get a word in edgewise as the colonel paced the confines of the private-for-now room. Before he or the colonel could continue, a door banged somewhere down the hall.

O'Neill's voice dropped as he continued. "Remember when you wanted to use classified information to prove my innocence when I was locked up for killing Kinsey? We CANNOT let classified materials into the public arena. No matter what's at stake."

"But…" Jonas could see the guilt and self-condemnation simmering under the colonel's statement. "I mean… Isn't this investigation our best chance for finding out who took Major Carter? And where she is now?"

"Indeed. It seems that we must decide between MajorCarter's safety and national security. I know which I value more." The Jaffa's dark expression offered his challenge.

O'Neill's face was a picture of military stoicism. "I'll tell you what the Major would say in my place. There's no decision to be made here." He held up a hand to forestall the oncoming arguments. "We have other ways of finding out who took Carter and where she is now. All we could do with random blood samples is endanger the SGC." Jonas looked ready to dispute that point, but O'Neill plowed on.

"Look," he hissed, "remember the whole big flap with that reporter and those N.I.D. nuts taking over the Prometheus? Carter said that Julia Donovan approached her with a sample of trinium and tried to use it as proof of her wild assed guesses. Those same guesses blew the lid off the whole project! What's to stop the next guy from trying to blackmail the SGC with naqahdah?"

Jonas pursed his lips and listened. Teal'c looked less convinced.

"We can't let naqahdah become public knowledge, which means _no one_ can analyze those samples. The only way they won't analyze them is if they don't get any in the first place. That's why Teal'c needs to come with me. If the samples are clean, we can let them go. If not… I'll call the general to make sure, but I think this investigation is about to be classified beyond the FBI's need to know."

Jonas considered O'Neill as he processed the colonel's 'no arguments' look and the toll it was taking on the team leader. No one - except maybe Sam the fellow officer, Jonas thought sadly – could fully understand how much O'Neill hated to have to say this _and_ how completely he would stick to his guns. The Stargate program was more important than one missing person. Even if that person was Samantha Carter.

"I think I could hate that word," Jonas muttered.

"Which one?" O'Neill demanded.

"_Classified._" Jonas' frown cut a deep furrow between his eyebrows as he frowned. "Whenever somebody on this team gets in trouble on Ea… off base, it seems like the only stuff we can use to help them is off limits because it's classified."

O'Neill gave a grim parody of his usual grin. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

Jonas shared a look with O'Neill before turning to their other companion. Now that the Kelownan was on board only the largest obstacle remained. Luckily, the Jaffa as a people had an ironclad sense of duty. As long as they let him come to his own conclusion, Teal'c would see that this was the right decision.

"O'Neill, I will do as you wish," Teal'c finally rumbled. "If I do not sense naqahdah at the site, we will allow the agents of investigation to analyze their findings. If I do sense naqahdah traces, I will send the samples to DoctorFraiser for analysis. Immediately."

O'Neill glanced at Teal'c, seeing the same unsubtle warning that Jonas caught. No way was Teal'c giving up these precious clues. Even if the FBI got kicked back to D.C., he would make sure that the SGC got all the material they could find. No matter who got in his way.

The colonel gave a tight false smile. However nasty the circumstances, it was nice to have his team pointed in the same direction. "Damn right," he acquiesced. "Let's get going."

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General Hammond's Office

Stargate Command

Downtime Day 11, afternoon

George Hammond gently hung up his secure phone line. Some people he wouldn't trade jobs with for all the naquadria on Kelowna, and Major Paul Davis topped that very short list. The Pentagon liaison to the SGC deserved every bit of his salary and probably quite a backlog of hazard pay they'd never be able to explain. The latest request from the field had the potential to turn into a bureaucratic firestorm of truly epic proportions.

General Hammond, in his official capacity as head of the "_Deep Space Radar Telemetry_" project, had just asked Major Davis of the _United States Air Force_ to prepare to step into an ongoing _FBI_ investigation on lands under the care of the _National Parks Administration_ to classify evidence collected by local Crime Scene Investigative Units under the jurisdiction of the _State of Arizona_. Paul Davis' shocked silence had exploded into a series of muttered curses impugning Colonel O'Neill's pedigree, intelligence, hygiene and mental status when he realized all the red tape he'd have to wade through in the next 24 hours.

The only consolation Hammond had been able to offer was that maybe none of the blood samples remaining at the scene contained naqahdah. But one of the tech boffins had already digitized and transmitted the tape of Major Carter's abduction to the Pentagon, so Davis and Hammond both knew how futile that hope would be. Still, Davis was not only a consummate professional and staunch supporter of SGC personnel. He was also a friend to Major Samantha Carter and had the utmost respect for her accomplishments as part of the original SG-1. He'd clipped off his rant mid-insult and, in a much louder voice, told General Hammond he'd get started finding the contacts and permissions he'd need. If there was a way to pull off this interagency sleight of hand with a minimum of fuss and lingering grudges, they both knew Davis would find it.

The portly bald general ran his hands over his exhausted face and sighed. The cat was well and truly out of the bag on Samantha Carter's disappearance, and his entire day had been a series of explanations, requests for technical aide and reassurances to the people under his command. Only twelve hours after Doctor Fraiser had let him awaken from his sedative induced sleep he was ready to take another rest, this time without a fight. And the hardest part of the day wasn't even here yet.

He'd let the Tok'ra know that Selmak's host was urgently requested to make contact with the SGC as soon as he returned. From what little the High Council had told him, Selmak's mission should be complete any day now. Jacob hadn't yet made contact and his old friend George was almost glad that was the case.

Normally, General Jacob/Selmak and Major Samantha Carter would remain in blissful ignorance if the other ran into trouble – unless, of course, one was asked to rescue the other. The previous time Sam had been kidnapped on Earth and held in an Oregon hospital, there had been no advantage in involving the Tok'ra. The existence now of the blood evidence and the video tape had changed that.

The Tok'ra, for all their reduced numbers and semi-nomadic existence, had better technical capabilities than any lab on Earth. If anyone could find elusive evidence hidden in the blood of the attackers or the images of the abduction, it would be Jacob's symbiotic colleagues. Now George had to tell a very old friend that his daughter was in danger somewhere on Earth and they could do very little here to find out where and how she was living. Of course, there was at least a possibility that she was dead by now. He had no idea how General Carter, USAF (Ret.) would take that and he really didn't want to have to know. Maybe Selmak's mission would run la-

"Unauthorized Offworld Activation!" Lt. Simmons called from the Control Room.

Hammond made his brisk way down from his office with a sinking heart. No one was expected back this afternoon, so it was either a team in trouble or –

"It's the Tok'ra, sir," Simmons advised.

"Open the iris," General Hammond commanded as his heart sank somewhere close to his feet.

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Author's Note: Yay! Another one bites the… silicon. My muse had serious issues with this one and I was dumb and fought her over it, thus the long wait. It sets up some clues and situations for the next few chapters that should move pretty briskly even if it's not, um, the most gripping itself. ;-) (My new mantra? Moo is always right. Moo is always right. Moo is always…)

As for the title change, I got really pretentious and decided that if this puppy kept expanding I'd need to designate the sections some way besides the cumbersome one I kept having to explain to my editrix when I told her about later ideas. So, this one is FHtA I (there may be up to V parts) and since it's the canon world just minus Sam… Canon minus A Major. (Yes, yes, I know I'm a dork, but I can't find my favorite sheet music and it's pissing me off. I miss tinkering at the piano.) Just to tease, FHtA II has the working title of Blinded With Science (apologies to Thomas Dolby).

As for the chapter title, stolen from an Emily Dickinson poem "After great pain, a formal feeling comes.", I imagine that the remnants of SG-1 and anyone else who knew Sam at all would have that reaction. It's sorta a hint. Kinda. See the above paragraph for dorkiness, okay?

Oh, and mea culpa, but I'm too taken with writing the next chapter to research whether the CSI for near-the-Grand-Canyon, Arizona operates on a city, county or state basis. Let's just pretend it's the State unless someone feels strongly enough to complain about it, okay?

**AND – I'd really appreciate if I could get a Stargate expert to beta read for me, especially with upcoming scenes and later ideas. If you're interested, leave me a signed review or your email address and I'll contact you. You get to see upcoming scenes before anyone else and upcoming plot twists in all their embryonic glory. And I'll love you forever, but that's secondary, right? ;-)**

REVIEW! PLEASE! REVIEW! SEND ME A LETTER, DROP ME A LINE, STATING POINT OF VIEW! REVIEW! And if you own the Beatles catalogue, don't sue! REVIEW! Am I being too subtle? ;-)

Last but in no way least, an enormous "SORRY" about the wait, anyone who's still reading this! I'll try to be better, but I can make no (unbroken) promises. Stinkin' RL. grumble I actually have the next two chapters awaiting email to my editrix, but she's off for a fabulous weekend in New Orleans at some jazz festival. jedimindtrick I am in no way jealous. The package is not ticking. Move along. /jedimindtrick


	8. The Finding Father

From Here to Alternity I: Canon minus A Major – The Finding Father

Disclaimer: See Chapter One for a complete disclaimer, but I make no money off this and the show is on hiatus till July, so… ;-) Please don't sue.

See author's notes below. There's also a set of parentheses around internal communication between a symbiote and host, which takes the place of other punctuation that didn't make it through the upload. I hope you can follow it. If not, sorry! I'll try to find a better method for later chapters.

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Previously, in From Here to Alternity:

_Stargate Command_

_Downtime Day 11_

_Now George had to tell a very old friend that his daughter was in danger somewhere on Earth and they could do very little here to find out where and how she was living. Of course, there was at least a possibility that she was dead by now. He had no idea how General Carter, USAF (Ret.) would take that and he really didn't want to have to know. Maybe Selmak's mission would run la-_

_"Unauthorized Offworld Activation!" Lt. Simmons called from the Control Room._

_Hammond made his brisk way down from his office with a sinking heart. No one was expected back this afternoon, so it was either a team in trouble or –_

_"It's the Tok'ra, sir," Simmons advised._

_"Open the iris," General Hammond commanded as his heart sank somewhere close to his feet._

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Embarkation Room

Stargate Command

Downtime Day 11, afternoon

The balding man in a tan wrapped tunic sauntered down the ramp as the wormhole behind him winked out in a blaze of silvery blue. He took no apparent notice of the airmen lowering their automatic weapons at the command of his old friend. However, he was not alone in his mind. A whisper of non-speech echoed silently through his head as he proceeded down the ramp.

_(Jacob_.)

(Yeah?)

_(Something is wrong here.)_

The wry mental snort echoed through Jacob Carter's skull as he took in his symbiote's uncharacteristic uneasiness. (Something's _always_ wrong when they call, Selmak. I wouldn't read too much into it.)

_(Then why will none of the Tau'ri meet your eyes?_)

Jacob gave no response, but he knew his headmate felt his wave of quashed alarm. He reached the bottom of the ramp and extended his hand to his old colleague waiting at the bottom. "George," he greeted jovially. "What new mess have you got for me?"

"I think we'd better take that up in the briefing room, Jacob." General Hammond's portly body seemed to weigh down his normally unflagging energy as he swept an arm towards the spiral staircase.

Jacob raised his eyebrows but made no comment until they were settled around the large wooden conference table. "This seems pretty official for the two of us, George. Which team has some new _thing_ they need answers on?"

George sat wearily with his 'commanding officer' face on. "Jacob, I hate telling you this more than I can say. I want you to know we're doing everything we can to remedy the situation. He met Jacob's eyes with the air of a man who dreaded what he could no longer avoid saying.

Jacob felt the first frisson of true fear. Selmak stayed silent and sent a wave of reassurance tinged with millennia of bitter experience. Selmak of the Tok'ra had lived many lives over two thousand years and change, but that particular facial expression never preceded good news regardless of the planet or culture. Jacob Carter knew the subject of the next sentence with a parent's infallible instinct. He felt his gaze go cold as his face stilled.

"Sam or Mark?" he asked flatly.

To his credit, Hammond looked him right in the eye as he began to explain. "It's Sam, Jacob. She's missing and… it doesn't look good. Actually, Mark brought it to our attention. It seems that she was supposed to drive down to San Diego on her vacation, but -"

Jacob stared stonily in his old friend's face as the tale unfolded: overwork, long vacation, gone to see family, out of contact. But his mind wasn't nearly as calm as his expression suggested.

_(Wait, Jacob! We cannot just charge down to this 'Grand Canyon' like an Unas through a crystal nursery.)_

(Don't tell me 'cannot', Selmak. That's my _daughter_ he's talking about! I'm not just gonna sit here and -)

_(Proceed with the action that will be most beneficial to the search for Samantha? Think for a moment, Jacob.)_ Selmak sent a wave of exasperation-flavored calm at her host. (_Hammond would not have contacted us unless he needed help only the Tok'ra could give. Did you not hear his comparison to the previous abduction?)_

(You mean the one nobody told me about?) Jacob shot back sourly.

_(Yes, dear friend.)_ Selmak's quiet determination overlapped with the wave of love and calm she sent to her hotheaded host. (_The kidnapping we could not have assisted in resolving. This one is different. We may yet be of great help.)_

(I _want_ to help. And the best way to do that's to jump the next transport down there and light a fire under their sorry asses!) If Jacob had said these things out loud, Hammond would have broken off the story to defend the SGC personnel on site in Arizona. Selmak just shushed him and directed their attention to Hammond's explanations. The symbiote had the patience of the nearly immortal to weigh against their combined concern for Jacob's youngest child.

"I didn't want to worry you until we had some idea of how serious the situation was. Now that we know, I need your help." Hammond's tired assertion was slightly softened by his obvious concern for his old friend.

"So what you're saying is that my little girl is out there somewhere and you didn't think I deserved to know that she's in danger?" Jacob's voice rose to a roar as he leaned menacingly towards the head of the table.

"We don't know that for sure," Hammond soothed. "We have videotape of her being taken from the park, but we have no indication that the kidnappers intended to harm her."

"Hunh. So I guess snatching tourists out of national parks is a new way to show you care. Kind of a welcome wagon from your friendly neighborhood felons." Jacob sat back and carefully folded his arms over his chest. It was as if he needed physical help to keep from grabbing the general's uniform and shaking it until Sam's location popped out of her CO's mouth.

George's sky blue eyes narrowed over the distinct purple blotches of exhaustion copious cups of coffee couldn't cure. "I understand that you're upset about this, Jacob. Hell, I'm not too happy about it myself. But it's my job to see the big picture here and you're just gonna have to trust that I have Sam's best interests at heart." Hammond leaned forward aggressively and stared his old buddy down. "From what we can see, she was alive and well as of eight days ago. Now, did you want to snap at me some more or did you want to see what we've got?"

"Sounds to me like you've got squat," Jacob growled.

"We're doing the best that we can!" Hammond snapped. He swallowed his defensiveness and went on after letting out a controlled breath. "I want – we _all_ want to get Sam back as quickly as possible. I contacted you not just to let you know what's going on, but to ask for your help in case the Tok'ra have a better chance of analyzing the evidence than we do."

Jacob seemed lost in thought for a moment, which struck George Hammond as distinctly odd. He couldn't hear the fierce internal debate being waged between an irate host and his logical symbiote, but he sensed it in Jacob's neutral response. "What evidence do you have?"

George winced slightly. "More of it should be coming soon, but we do have the videotape I mentioned. I can play it for you, but… you need to brace yourself, Jake."

Jacob just gave a distracted nod as the lights went down.

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_(Jacob, please remain calm. Remember that we cannot-) _Selmak stopped instantly as the video began to play. She could feel Jacob's curiosity and anger warring with titanic impatience as his daughter walked off towards the overlook. Selmak sent patience, alertness and cool logic back as they both stared out of her host's eyes.

In most cases, either the host or the symbiote was in control, with a nodded head marking the distinct transition between the two. But Selmak was indeed among the oldest and wisest of the Tok'ra and she had had more than two millennia to discover the subtleties of blending. If the host was willing, the symbiote could experience the information coming through the host's senses directly rather than tapping into the synapses carrying sensations with the host's perception and personality already stamped upon them. It was mildly disorienting to both symbiote and host, but it gave them a surer way to triangulate the truth from two separate angles of perception.

And neither of those angles showed anything they wanted to see. Jacob's Sammy whirled through a distinctly unfair fight as the ex-host of Jolinar of Malkshur grimly dispatched her enemies. This double view of Samantha Carter had been one of the more _unique_ experiences of this blending. The lines often blurred, of course, and Selmak had her own love for Samantha to subdue at this moment. Selmak could feel her concern giving way to an operative's analysis of the scene and a cool calculation of Samantha's odds of survival. She prepared to share her conclusions with her host when lashing waves of emotion battered her psyche.

Jacob's whirl of anger/fear/despair/revenge/concern/love/protectiveness/guilt almost overwhelmed them, but Selmak shared the burden of emotion with her host and tried desperately to lessen the intensity of his wordless wrath. A tornado of pain whirled from every part of their brain related to experiencing emotion.

The symbiote could shelter the host from _physical_ pain with a conscious effort since it usually came via the spinal cord and gave the symbiote some warning of the neurotransmitters that needed to be blocked. Jolinar had done it for Samantha after the ashrak's attack, according to the major's memories, but the sheer intensity and duration of the pain had overwhelmed the symbiote's defenses and forced a choice between the survival of the host and the symbiote. Suppressing the host's symptoms preserved the host body but left the symbiote vulnerable to its own biochemical reactions. Such an overload was rare, especially if the pair had been blended for some time, but it was the intended result of a concentrated blast from a Goa'uld hand device. Even the unblended were killed in the same way, as the overload of pain receptors swamped their brain tissue with a sudden spike of neurotransmitters and high blood pressure that shut down crucial feedback systems. In other words, it fried their brains.

_Emotional_ pain was much more complex, as it originated suddenly within the shared brain of the symbiote and host and the neurotransmitters unleashed in its wake could harm both if left too uncontrolled for too long. That was part of the reason Jacob's issues with his son had so irritated Selmak – the emotional turmoil was unhealthy for her and her host over the long term. It was also the reason behind the Tok'ra's seeming lack of emotion; thousands of years of memories forced a symbiote to distance herself from extremes of emotion lest the losses of a prior host doom the new pair forever. Seeing Samantha Carter beaten and stabbed didn't threaten her father's survival, but the whirlpool of his emotions had to be processed swiftly and completely for Jacob and Selmak to be of any use to their girl.

Selmak focused on managing Jacob's outrage with most of her mind while she prodded her host to respond to the general's increasingly alarmed questions. Jacob made no response, staring at the frozen screen in horror while searching desperately for something, _anything_ that could help his child. His mind raced through years of bloody combat, trying to raid his memories for some indication that Sam's wounds weren't serious. While he was busy reviewing, his headmate suppressed the emotions dredged up by each instance and struggled to keep up.

Selmak grimaced internally and let her host's head rise as she took control. "Jacob is well, General Hammond," Selmak assured the other Tau'ri sitting at the table. "The images you have shown us were… disturbing. Once he regains a measure of calm, I will have him tell you himself."

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George Hammond started before accepting this change in personalities. Most of the time Selmak allowed Jacob to 'drive' while they were in the presence of the Tau'ri and Jacob returned the favor amongst the Tok'ra. Selmak's blazing eyes had faded to the clear white of his host again as Hammond spoke. "Can you give me any information on the Tok'ra's video enhancement or analysis technology? Or perhaps you saw something in the footage that my people missed?"

Selmak gave a metallic hum as she thought. "If the information has been entered into a compatible format, I can take it back to the Tok'ra base. It is possible that we may be able to discern details that elude your computers. Can you tell me what else has occurred in the search?"

Hammond noticed that Selmak didn't confirm or deny that the Tok'ra had better computer capabilities or modes of analysis. Despite the fact that he trusted Jacob implicitly and therefore Selmak more than any other symbiote, a small coal of resentment flared to life as the Tok'ra refused to give the Tau'ri helpful technology. Again.

Selmak winced suddenly. "General Hammond, could I prevail upon you for a sleep chamber for a period of time? I just returned from an exhausting mission and came directly here in response to your urgent summons. I have not been able to refresh myself or eat for some time and Jacob's emotions are… difficult to experience. I would appreciate the chance to eat and to have him sleep for a few hours."

"Of course," Hammond responded. He was slightly startled by the vulnerability Selmak was showing, but he had to be grateful for anything that delayed Jacob's verbal reaction to the tape. He summoned a waiting aide from outside the briefing room door. "Airman, could you please show Selmak to the VIP quarters and have the cafeteria send down some food? Thank you. Selmak, are you sure you don't need to take Jacob to the infirmary? I know you can heal him, but…"

"That will not be necessary, General Hammond. Thank you. Will you be available to speak with Jacob and me tomorrow morning?"

Hammond responded in the affirmative and watched his old friend depart. Now, how could he best use Jacob's resources in the search while keeping his friend from charging all over the Southwest with an alien symbiote in his body? He groaned. It could be a long night.

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Several floors above the general, the potentially renegade pair in question reclaimed their equilibrium as the images of Sam faded slightly. The hurricane of memory had subsided into separate storm systems of thought they could navigate around at will. Selmak still had to analyze the videotape and control Jacob's emotional reaction, but they were talking to each other again rather than shouting over the din.

(I'm not a baby,) Jacob pouted as his symbiote steered them to the assigned VIP quarters in the wake of a nervous airman. (You didn't have to ask George to send me to my room.)

Selmak sighed. (_Jacob, your irrationality is fatiguing at present.)_

It was less a rebuke than an admission of the Tok'ra's state of being. Jacob was too keyed up to hear it that way, however.

(So now I'm a nut case?) Jacob demanded. (I'm someone you have to handle with kid gloves? Is there anything _else_ you'd like to share, Sel?)

The image of a bandy-legged cartoon rooster in boxing gloves challenging Foghorn Leghorn to put his dukes up startled the human into a snort of laughter.

_(Whoops.)_ Selmak replied, deadpan. (_Did I think that out loud?)_

Jacob's emotions retreated further as he carefully constructed a mental desert scene complete with cliffs and mountains. A Road Runner with Jacob's face meep-meeped over a cliff's edge at a Wile E. Coyote holding a fuzzy pink anvil with 'Feelings' in a swirly, girly script in front of a T-shirt labeling him 'Selmak O. Tok'ra'.

_(Cute, Jacob. Very cute.)_

(I didn't even get to throw you off a cliff yet.) Jacob's humor laced his mental voice, but it hadn't erased his irritation completely.

_(That will not be necessary.)_ Selmak's dry tone melted under a wave of concerned sincerity. (_I meant what I said, dear friend. I am tired. You are tired. Our mission was successful, but long, and we have yet to refresh ourselves. I can feel the strength of your desire to assist with the search, but there is much to do before we have to argue about how to help. Again.)_

(I'm not just gonna drop right off to sleep, Sel. You know how I feel about… what we saw.) Jacob avoided reliving the video as he continued. (I might as well see what I information I can dig up while we're here.)

_(I will make a bargain with you.)_ Selmak offered. (_You lay down and let me put you to sleep while I try to… process our memories and emotions. Once I believe you are sufficiently rested and fed, I will allow you complete control to inquire around the base and find whatever you can without alerting General Hammond. Once you are satisfied that you know enough to negotiate with your old friend and I am satisfied that I can dampen or relieve your reactions to what we find, we will decide what we can do to best help the search for your daughter.)_

Jacob thought silently while Selmak pointedly ignored his deliberations. She had borrowed the image of turning her back and whistling to drown out Jacob's thoughts when he wanted a moment of internal solitude. He would do the same for her in sensitive situations, although they generally thought and remembered as one. It was an odd accommodation to the Tau'ri obsession with privacy, but it worked for them. Meanwhile, they had arrived in their room and sat down on the bed after Selmak dismissed the airman.

Jacob mentally tugged gently on ImaginarySelmak's tunic hem as he removed his real Tok'ra uniform and footwear from their body before crawling under the covers. (Hey, Sel? No dreams, okay?)

_(None that you will recall,)_ she promised.

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General Hammond's Office

Stargate Command

Downtime Day 12, afternoon

It was late the next afternoon before Hammond had time to meet with Jacob Carter. A foul up in the chain of command had transmitted SG-1's transport orders _after_ the security brief declaring the evidence classified went out but _before_ the interagency agreement to relinquish that material was negotiated. With Hammond on one line and the heads of other agencies on others, Paul Davis finally hammered out a solution that accommodated all the interested parties while preserving the SGC's secrets.

Then an SG Team called in for an evacuation under fire and Hammond was stuck in the planning and execution of that operation. The waiting and hoping lasted till almost dinnertime, but every SG Team member came back alive. Some would be Doctor Fraiser's guests for a few weeks, but that was less important in the scheme of things than coming through the 'gate with a pulse.

Finally, Hammond got a minute to catch his breath and remembered Jacob and Selmak. He cleared his desk of all nonessential paperwork and called his old friend in. General Carter's characteristic swagger was back in force as he sank into a chair in George's office. They exchanged pleasantries and best wishes for the injured men before taking up Sam's situation.

"Okay, George, I'm back in the game. Sorry about yesterday. I didn't realize how much the last mission had taken out of me." Jacob began.

"That's perfectly alright, Jacob. I can't imagine watching that tape without a similar reaction. Now, Doctor Fraiser has analyzed it to the best of her ability and she's fairly certain that the stab wound to the major's stomach was not fatal." George winced slightly at the murderous expression in his friend's eyes. None of this was easy to hear or to say, but he had the advantage of several days to process Sam's disappearance. Jacob had come into this blind.

"They'd better hope not, whoever they are," Jacob growled. He took a deep breath with unfocused eyes, probably Selmak's influence if not an internal conversation with his symbiote. "Anyway. I've spent the day listening to the grapevine on base and doing a little digging. I take it we don't have the who or the why or the where yet?"

"You know me better than that, Jacob. If I had anything at all on this I'd have let you know first thing."

Jacob pushed his hands through the air palm down as if squashing some amorphous blame onto the general's desk. "I know. Sorry. It's just that this thing is so unbelievable to me. I know Sam's come to my rescue before and I know she has a dangerous job – hell, she's the one who hooked me up with the Tok'ra – but I never expected this on Earth. I mean, out there among the Goa'uld, sure, I worry about her. But not here at home. This is supposed to be where she's _safe_. And…" He shook his head angrily as if warding off further emotion. Blending with Selmak had smoothed out some of his rough edges, but it still wasn't enough to let him show his bewilderment and anxiety openly to an old colleague. They were tough guys, after all.

"Believe me, I know. Even though Major Carter was taken captive before here on Earth, once we eliminated Adrian Conrad I thought the danger to her was over. Somehow, car accidents and muggings and things like that aren't allowed to happen to my people. They take so many risks every day to keep the rest of the Earth safe that Earth should do the same for them." Hammond's bulldog expression went well with his full cheeks and determined eyes.

"I gotta tell ya, George, I'm not happy that I hadn't heard about this previous kidnapping until now." Jacob laced his fingers over his belly to keep from clenching his hands.

"It wasn't my story to tell, Jacob. Once SG-1 brought her back safely, I thought it was Sam's place to tell you or not as she wanted to. It's not as if the Tok'ra could've helped." Hammond replied reasonably.

"I'm not just a Tok'ra." Jacob said quietly. "I'm her father."

"I know," Hammond apologized. He'd known the Carters a long time and he'd seen the distance Jacob and Mark's forceful personalities had wedged into their relationship. Sam had always taken enough after her mother to bridge the gap between them, but by the time she was working on the Stargate project she and her father had entered a long rocky patch of their own. Jacob loved his kids with his whole heart, but affection and 'I love you's had always been his wife's job. Some outdated habit of self-protection must have kept Sam from confiding in her father, but George didn't know anything more than that and he didn't want to. General Hammond had happily stayed out of Carter relationships after Jacob joined the Tok'ra and mended his fences with Mark. Hammond's last interference had done some good and he was eager to retire with that track record.

"Well, I haven't heard from SG-1 in a couple of hours," George offered, hoping to change the subject. "I expect them to call any minute now."

Jacob eyed his old friend shrewdly but made no demands as to what George had _not_ said. Luckily, the phone rang at that moment as if prompted by George's remark. The two generals made their way into the briefing room and put Colonel O'Neill on speakerphone.

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Author's Notes:

First, an ENORMOUS thank you to everyone who has reviewed, especially those who offered to beta this puppy! I really appreciate your enthusiasm and affection for this story and I love that you've told me what you think of it. Your comments inspire me to write further and faster. (Yes, I _could_ be slower with updates. It's physically possible. Kick my muse into action – review! )

First, middle and last, My Everlasting Gratitude to technetium, who has offered time and sage advice as my first ever beta reader. Several of the coolest phrases and the existence of this particular chapter come from her suggestions, and it would be a much slower, sadder effort without such excellent input. Also thanks to my hardworking Editrix, who will never access this site but needs a shout out anyway. Any errors or awkwardness are solely my fault.

I also owe an intellectual debt to David Weber's "Honor Harrington" series of books and the character of Nimitz as well as Neuropsych and the character Talon from "The Mitchell Files" series here on ffnet.

I have several chapters of this percolating on my hard drive and I'll try to update more frequently until that material runs out. I hope you like it – let me know what you think and what specifically makes you think so. ;-)


	9. Classify This!

From Here to Alternity I: Canon minusA Major: Classify This!

Me no own. Me no make money off. Please not to sue. See explicit disclaimer in other chapters.

Author's note at end, after the usual evil cliffhanger. ;-)

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Hallway, Administration Building

Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

Downtime Day 12, midafternoon

'Tio Murray' loomed calmly over the CSI team in a quiet hallway just outside the park's security chief's office. Truth be known, he didn't even need to alter his normal impassive expression to make the three techs nervous. They'd had all yesterday afternoon, from a midmorning roll out to the last bits of daylight, to dread his insistence on keeping a personal inventory of _every_ piece of evidence collected.

After they'd arrived on the scene and taken pictures to establish the initial position of everything in and around the crime scene, the techs divided up the responsibility for collecting the relevant samples. Teal'c had initially made himself the silent shadow of a petite woman assigned to inspect and fingerprint every part of the SUV and every surface within it. She remained determinedly nonchalant throughout the initial inventory, even when Colonel O'Neill had to explain the metaphor 'breathing down her neck' to Teal'c. However, once he peered in the third successive window she was trying to fingerprint, she started to get a bit wigged. O'Neill had had to explain that term to the incredibly literal (and bald) alien as well; by this point, Jack was nearly sure Teal'c was enjoying the - probably unnecessary - slang lessons. The fifth time the tech dropped her fingerprint powder out of sheer nervousness, her boss had called O'Neill over and politely asked him to have Teal'c take a breather. Jack just groaned at the politely curious look on his teammate's face. The colonel didn't know why Teal'c was tormenting him in this subtle fashion, but it needed to stop.

Once O'Neill had explained 'take a breather' (which he _knew_ Teal'c knew, dammit!), the Jaffa had silently inclined his head and then faded into the background. Coincidentally, that fading had taken him just far enough away from the car to follow the efforts of the two techs quartering the rest of the scene. He spent the rest of the afternoon dividing his eagle eye between O'Neill's concentration on the vehicle search, Anderson's supervision of the outlook sample collection and the techs' quest to retrieve forensic traces off the asphalt. Who knew there were so many ways to say 'you missed a spot' without actually uttering the words?

After dusk, which coincided with the last of the search, the techs had seen their tormentor pause near the sample collection kits and give a grave nod in Colonel O'Neill's direction. The colonel had given a grim little head shake in return and informed them that all the material they'd collected, including any digital or photographic images, was now classified as a matter of national security. They were instructed to turn the evidence over to him - and the anal-retentive mountain of muscle - for further processing. He'd barely gotten through the speech when their site boss took exception to it. The resulting commotion had attracted the attention of the resident Fed.

That was 21 hours ago and the argument over custody of this evidence was still on going. For the first six hours the techs had been on the side of truth, justice, and possession being nine-tenths of the law. However, when the man-mountain gripped the handles of the evidence cart and _stared_ at them… Their boss had muttered that he wasn't sure whether he wanted to never see the big guy again or recruit him for their seedier crime scenes. After all, an eye for detail and all that brawn – not to mention that Look! That had even gotten a half-smile out of Tio. At roughly 1 a.m., a low-ranking night shift CSI had turned up for guard duty and they had cheerfully abandoned their posts, sure that the evidence would be theirs by tomorrow.

Well, it was tomorrow. And the evidence still wasn't theirs. Actually, the CSI's were on loan to the FBI in this case, since the local FBI office was understaffed and the national park was under federal jurisdiction rather than state. So, technically, their office was already out of the running in the evidence sweepstakes, but they stayed to protect the chain of custody for the eventual winner. As long as it was the FBI or the National Park Service. If the Air Force managed to get this stuff classified, the man-mountain would take it off to whatever black hole he worked in and they'd never be able to figure out exactly _which_ of the blood drops, hairs, fibers and photos was a threat to national security. They were just the tiniest bit tempted to take a few more samples and find out for themselves, but the man-mountain's eagle eye was upon them. No dice.

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The CSI techs couldn't tell, but Teal'c wasn't paying them any attention at all. Well, none beyond his usual instinctive threat assessment. His eyes never left the naqahdah-laced samples they'd secured on a cart as he stood in his casual parade rest, arms linked behind his waist and head cocked attentively. However, he was fiercely following the debate in the security chief's office behind them via his superior hearing. That's why Teal'c tensed and pivoted to face the brisk steps coming from the direction of the video monitoring room before the techs even knew they had company.

"JonasQuinn, are you well?"

"Teal'c! I'm so glad to find you. Do you know where the colonel is right now?" Jonas came to a halt in front of his large teammate and glanced around the hallway with a distracted air.

"I believe he is discussing the terms of a security decree issued this morning. All the evidence you see here has been classified and will be released into our possession." Teal'c's faint disappointment could only be heard by someone who knew him well. Not that he thought DoctorFraiser's ability to pull clues from the evidence was any worse than the techs'. It was more accurately a feeling that he and his team would locate MajorCarter more quickly with civilian assistance.

"What's to discuss?" Jonas frowned. "If it's classified, no one else can take it. And if we have orders to collect it and transport it…"

"I believe the _idea_ of classifying these samples is the heart of the contention. After an airman arrived with the initial orders, the security chief invited the airman and ColonelO'Neill to perform an anatomical impossibility. AgentAnderson speculated on the species of O'Neill's mother, then they moved the discussion inside the chief's office. The airman retreated to his vehicle to await our departure." Teal'c related the battle's initial salvo while concentrating on the current engagement. ChiefLudlow was louder, but O'Neill seemed confident of victory.

However, something in AgentAnderson's tone made Teal'c wary. The gentle peacemaker he had heard described by JonasQuinn and the calm professional agent he'd observed at the crime scene had dissolved into a female version of O'Neill. Well, not precisely. But AgentAnderson was sarcastic, intelligent, observant, determined, and stubborn to the point of hoarseness. The parallels were unmistakable.

"Ah. Oh." Jonas was stuck between really wanting to know the colonel's response to those goads and really not wanting to draw his teammate's attention from the discussion. "How long have they been… discussing?"

"They have been debating a course of action for quite some time, JonasQuinn. If they do not come to an agreement by 1600 hours, ColonelO'Neill instructed me to contact GeneralHammond and have him 'make some calls'. After he does so, I believe the obese woman will perform a song. Why do you inquire?"

Jonas frowned. "Oh. Well, I've been in the video lab with Agent Tapping and two rangers for most of the day. I wanted to know if there was anything new before we made our report to General Hammond." He leaned closer to his teammate and murmured, "I actually wanted to get out of there for a little while. Ever since Chris divided us up yesterday, when they had their little meeting down the hall while we discussed, ah, national security, Tapping has been depressed and grouchy. I hoped I'd find someone in a better mood out here."

"That is not likely," Teal'c stated baldly, glancing menacingly at the gathered techs. "The opposition to the security decree is widespread. I do not believe that O'Neill is making any progress in convincing ChiefLudlow and AgentAnderson that we are the best caretakers of the evidence."

In the small silence after Teal'c spoke, an angry bellow rang out from the nearby office. All heads but Teal'c's swiveled to the security chief's door. The sound of a meaty fist pounding on a desk carried through the hollow wood.

"How long till you're supposed to call Hammond?" Jonas inquired.

"Approximately three minutes," Teal'c replied, opening his huge hand to show a tiny cell phone.

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Security Chief's Office, Administration Building

Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

Downtime Day 12, midafternoon, 30 minutes later

"Boy, I don't know how you did this and you just better hope I never find out! Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here and turning my park upside down and then tellin' me exactly diddly _squat_!" Chief Ludlow's lean, sun darkened cheeks held a crimson flush as he bellowed. "And after me and my staff bend over backwards to help you, this is the thanks we get!"

Agent Christina Anderson of the FBI and Colonel Jack O'Neill of the US Air Force sat bolt upright in their chairs as the security chief thundered. Agent Anderson was completely expressionless as she focused on the lanky 'military observer' who had so complicated her investigation. And Jack O'Neill concentrated on not gloating or snapping anyone's head off while maintaining a proper military posture. Slouching just didn't go with matters of national security… outside the mountain at least.

"Who the hell do you know in Washington anyway? I'm no damned conspiracy theorist, but this just isn't right. What the hell are you tryin' to hide?" Ludlow wound up to a point of speechless rage and had to settle for glaring until his blood pressure settled into human range again.

They'd been at this on and off all afternoon. He, the colonel and the agent would negotiate almost to the point of agreement about jurisdictions and procedures and reporting channels, but then the matter of testing and keeping the evidence would come up in a new and less acceptable way and they'd all start shouting again. None of them could give up or change their positions much, although each screaming match between two participants led to the third calling a truce and letting them all gather new instructions and fresh ammunition from their bosses. Every partial compromise was hard won and fragile, and it was inevitably destroyed in the next round of argument. This could go on forever. Ludlow was bone tired and hoarse and he glared at O'Neill before a flick of his eyes tagged Agent Anderson as the new prosecutor for the civilian side.

A nearly expressionless soprano took over the questioning. Any sensible debater might have welcomed a sweet voice of reason right about now, but O'Neill wasn't about to get one to his liking. "I fail to see how you can have the entire body of evidence classified, Colonel. Your justification is less than convincing. So far all we have is a letter from a local Air Force base authorizing transportation of your team and any baggage or samples on the next available aircraft. That doesn't automatically give you the right to walk off with my case." Christina Anderson had been the managing peacemaker since the first moment they met, but hours of frustration and bureaucratic wrangling had worn away her immense patience.

"And I keep telling you that this is the only order I have in writing because it's the only order that's local. My boss, General George Hammond, has gotten permission from the Pentagon to take the evidence back to our base. I spoke to him and to Major Davis, the liaison from the Joint Chiefs, earlier today." O'Neill's olive complexion was limned with a red undertone just as his voice strained for a polite tone. "Now, I told you both this yesterday and again when we met this morning; you've been a great help, thanks for letting us play with your toys and in your sandbox." His glare swept Anderson and Ludlow in order. "Now it's time to go home and the evidence is coming home with us. It's _classified,_ for cryin' out loud!"

"And as _I_ told _you_ earlier, I don't work for the Air Force, I work for the FBI! I don't care who told you what – unless and until I hear otherwise from _my_ boss that evidence is _mine!_ You haven't shown me a damn bit of proof so far that the evidence has _anything_ to do with national security." Anderson's hands crept to her hips even as she kept her seat.

"The paperwork is coming. It's not my fault there's a snag in the red tape!" O'Neill snapped back. He couldn't decide whether to smack Paul Davis on the back of his skull for dropping him into the middle of this mess or take the man out for a beer to apologize for all the stupid stuff he must've gone through for SG-1 over the years. He tiredly shook his head; he'd endured Goa'uld ribbon devices to the brain less painful than this.

"Look, let's be reasonable about this," Ludlow rasped wearily.

"I _am _being reasonable!" Jack retorted. "I could've just gotten Teal- _Tio_ to grab the blood in the middle of the night and left you people to figure it out!"

If Anderson had ever struck him as the sweet-talking good-cop type, he knew better now. She fairly pounced on his admission with all ten claws. "And we would have pursued you back to your oh-so-secret base and arrested you for obstruction of justice! And that's _before_ I got creative!"

Jack locked eyes with his former ally… well, the agent most likely to be on his side. Right about now he'd take big, snide Tapping over this too-clever verbal street fighter with her inch-long manicured nails. He wanted to call the damned cliché writers' guild and correct a little oversight of theirs. 'Don't judge a book by its cover' should have included '_or_ its first few chapters, especially if you like them'. This argument was taking time that Carter might not have. If he weren't dependent on Jonas and Tapping finding the probable kidnappers in the DMV records, he'd have busted his team out of here – with the evidence – last night.

"Colonel O'Neill, if I remember my biology correctly, every animal on this planet has blood." Anderson's saccharine sarcasm made his teeth ache. "Why should the presence of Samantha Carter's blood samples shut down the _entire_ investigation? The presence of blood at the scene of an assault is _not_ a matter of national security!"

"Carter's is," Jack insisted. Inside he cursed his slip of the tongue. Over the last few hours of negotiation he had managed to keep the SGC's true interest to himself, but he'd just given Anderson ammunition to blast away at any logical foundation for his claim to all the evidence. If he kept this up, pretty soon he'd fall down exhausted and let them take _his_ blood to analyze if they wanted it.

"How exactly is that possible?" Christina Anderson replied, her sarcasm not abating. "And why would all the other trace elements get lumped together with it if all you wanted was the blood sample?"

"Can't tell ya. It's classified." His weary expression of unholy glee made the agent's blood boil.

"That's the most idiotic thing I've heard during this entire investigation," she snapped.

"And having met your partner, I think that's an accomplishment," O'Neill returned in his classic sarcastic tone.

"Oh, I always had faith you could top him," she remarked sweetly. "And you didn't answer my question. You just admitted you only want the blood!"

O'Neill struggled briefly for a cutting reply to her counter taunt. He also searched frantically for a way to distract or obfuscate his non-response to her demand. He came up blank, but what did you expect after hours of this crap?

Ludlow choked on a laugh as the phone rang. He scowled as he snatched up the handset. "I thought I said not to put any calls through!" His expression went straight to shocked as he said, "Put him through. Yes, I'll hold."

O'Neill and Anderson abandoned their sniping contest to listen, though neither was under the illusion that their contest was over. Their curiosity was quickly rewarded.

"Yessir," Chief Ludlow's face blanched as he came to a seated form of attention. "Yessir, I understand. Well, sir, it's just not usual for us to have this kind of problem and then to have it unsolved… No, sir, I don't. Well, sir, if someone had made that clear from the start… No, sir, I'm not blaming Agent Anderson or Colonel O'Neill. Yessir, I can do that. Fine, sir. No, thank _you_." He put the handset gently back down on the base and faced the silent pair for an eternal moment.

"Colonel O'Neill, remember when I said I wanted to know who you knew in Washington? How 'bout I don't ask and you don't tell me." Anderson stared at their host as O'Neill stifled a wry grin at the security chief's twist on that infamous phrase. Ludlow continued in a daze. "I don't know or care how, but that stuff's officially top secret, are-you-now-or-have-you-ever-been, don't-call-us-we'll-call-you, I'd-tell-you-but-then-I'd-have-to-kill-you _classified_."

Jack was quietly impressed by Ludlow's turn of stolen phrases as he clamped down further on his triumphant amusement. Senator Joe McCarthy, the Tok'ra and the CIA all in the same sentence? His inner Mr. Burns wiped desiccated hands together and hissed 'Ex-cel-lent'. _And_ he was getting the evidence, too.

Anderson, her suspicions already aroused, asked the obvious question. "Okay, so who was that?"

"That, Agent Anderson, was the President of the United States." O'Neill's smug voice cut across Anderson's query and the chief's stupor. She gave him a 'yeah, right' glare and turned to Ludlow.

He shook his head in wonder. "Not quite."

Jack scowled at the phone and wondered who the heck Hammond had called if not The Big Guy.

"That was the Secretary of the Interior on speakerphone with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. As far as _this_ office is concerned, that's two steps from God. Colonel, call your general and tell him we'll release the evidence within the hour." Ludlow gathered himself from behind the desk with a brisk, I-was-never-speechless nod and went to notify his deputies.

That left Chris and Jack in the office with the speakerphone as Jonas filed in. Jack quirked his eyebrow at his teammate and peered around him.

"Teal- _Tio's_ watching the evidence," Jonas responded.

Jack grunted and punched the speakerphone button. Then he turned to Anderson and said, "Did you need something?"

"Yes," she responded sweetly with a shark's smile. "I need to speak to General Hammond."

"I don't think so," Jack replied, all politeness gone.

"Funnily enough, I do. Either you call him with me here or I'll use my cell phone, but I'm talking to your boss."

Her implacable ire made Jack pause. Throughout the entire investigation she'd been the grown up, the calm-cool-and-collected one who kept them all on track. Ever since he announced that the investigation was over for all intents and purposes _and_, by the way, all the evidence was now off limits and leaving with him, he'd seen a side of her that proved valid all the clichés about redheads and tempers. He really hated clichés. Added-on-to or not.

"Listen, Anderson –" But Jack was cut off before he began.

"Do you need me to give you the number?" Chris asked, as if he were a child too young or too stupid to remember his own digits.

"Fine! I'm calling," Jack snarled. "But when he boots you off the case, don't take it out on my team."

As the colonel dialed, Jonas gave Agent Anderson his best apologetic smile. She didn't respond verbally, but she rose from her seat and came to the edge of the guys' personal space without offering violence to either one of them. That had to be a step in the right direction.

"Yeah, Colonel O'Neill for General Hammond, please." Jack turned to block his teammate from the agent's line of sight. "You find anything?" he muttered to the Kelownan.

"Nope," Jonas replied. The colonel gave him a vaguely disgusted glare.

Suddenly the speakerphone burst into life. "Colonel O'Neill?"

"General, Jonas and I were about to give you an update on the evidence, but we've got a stubborn civilian here who won't leave." His gaze clashed with Chris' from a fairly short distance. He saw her open her mouth to protest and sneered. "Excuse me. We have a stubborn _federal_ _agent_. She says she won't leave until she can speak to you." Jack's gaze never wavered as his frustration lashed Anderson.

Hammond sighed over the line. "I think I can guess who. I have Jacob Carter here as well," he informed them.

Jack closed his eyes for an intense second before speaking quietly. "I'm really sorry about this, Dad."

Christina spoke before Jacob Carter could respond. "Colonel Jake, I'm sorry, too. I know this is upsetting. I'm working as hard as I can to find Sam and I promise I won't give up until she's safe."

Jonas looked sharply back at his commanding officer and mouthed, 'Colonel Jake'? O'Neill gave a bewildered shrug.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, George, Colonel Jake" she continued, "but _what the hell were the two of you thinking?_"

And a loaded silence fell.

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AN:Be honest. Who saw that coming? ;-)

A particularlysupercalifragilisticexpialidocious thank you to technetium, beta extraordinaire, and my editrix for their patience and support. As usual, the good stuff is better because of their help and the bad stuff is my doing, not theirs.Onekick-ass line in particular here belongs to technetium - see if you can guess which one I mean. The winner gets... well, something non-monetary but heartfelt.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed (you know who you are... and so do I - mwah!). I decided to post this because I got a particularly detailed review for the last chapter AND I overcame major plotter's block for the next section. Yay feedback! Yay brain cells! I hope you all enjoyed this part and I am, as always, COMPLETELY GRATEFUL for those of you who tell me what you liked (or hated) and why. Your opinions make it that much easier for me to write - either I know you like the same parts I did or I know I'm not saying what I mean to... or I just have a freaky sense of humor. That, too. ;-)


	10. Story Time, Boys and Girl!

From Here to Alternity I: Canon minus A Major: Storytime, Boys and Girl!

See all the pretty, shiny, famous people in this story? They don't belong to me. Gekko, Double Secret, MGM/Sony, SciFiChannel, etc. have rights to them. I have spirited them away from the above and promise to forward all cookies, cyber and otherwise, I make from this to them. Of course I make no money from this! Heck, I don't even make money from my real job! It's all for love, baybee. All for love.

As usual, I've made up names and characters and personal history with impunity and will explain myself (if ever) in the author's notes placed after the nasty cliffhanger unless I respond to a specific request from a reviewer.Don't sue!

Italicized words within parentheses are the symbiote's and plain old parentheses denote the host's mental voice.

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_Previously in _From Here to Alternity:

_Grand Canyon Nat'l Park_

_Downtime Day 12_

_Christina spoke before Jacob Carter could respond. "Colonel Jake, I'm sorry. I know this is upsetting. I'm working as hard as I can to find Sam and I promise I won't give up until she's safe."_

_Jonas looked sharply back at his commanding officer and mouthed, 'Colonel Jake'? O'Neill gave a bewildered shrug._

"_Please don't take this the wrong way, George, Colonel Jake" she continued, "but _what the hell were the two of you thinking_?"_

_And a loaded silence fell._

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Security Chief's Office, Administration Building

Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

Downtime Day 12, afternoon

Tiny, red-haired Christina Anderson glared directly at the phone on the desk as if Generals George Hammond and Jacob Carter could see her expression. She didn't bother to look at her two companions, because she had heard Colonel Jack O'Neill and Jonas Quinn's jaws hitting the floor. This was _not_ how she had anticipated telling her co-investigators just how she got this case and why she'd be so obstinate about keeping it. Her jaw set in a picture of stubbornness as she waited for the men on the other end of the speakerphone to respond.

"_Tina_?" Jacob Carter gasped in confused recognition. "Wait, what are you…? How did you…? George?"

Hammond's gusty sigh came over the line and FBI Agent Christina Anderson, who hadn't gone by her childhood nickname for years, could picture his closed eyes and pursed mouth as if they were video conferenced. "Christina," George drawled with his soft Texan accent, "I need you to let me talk to my officers in private."

Normally a two star general's request was law, but Anderson wasn't military (anymore) so she folded her arms across her chest and began tapping her toe. "Not until you tell me what the hell's going on!"

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From a high backed chair in an office deep in the heart of Cheyenne Mountain, a foot-long reptilian symbiote wrapped around the brain stem of a retired general sent a question to the human half of herself.

(_Jacob?)_

(Yeah, Sel.) The agitation of Jacob Carter's body and mind echoed through his mental voice. Selmak tried not to recall the reason she'd taken over for her host almost from the moment George had told them about… the circumstance that pained her host. Recollection would spur reaction in a vicious circle of avoidable pain.

(_Who is this 'Tina' and why does she speak to you and General Hammond in this manner?_)

(Tina's an old – wait, you can remember my life before you, right?) Jacob had experienced a great many things in the last four years, but it seemed that he was continually finding more aspects to blending with Selmak. He had thought his previous life an open book, but…

(_Access, more precisely, but yes._)

(Then you should know that 'Tina' is Christina Anderson, an old friend of the family. I've known her about thirty years or so. Actually, with her family it's more like forty.)

(_The small red-haired child with the mischievous smile? I see her from infancy with several gaps – ah, that is when you were stationed apart from her father, Lucas…who went through basic training with you. And I see his death. She had the body type of a teenager then. Why have I not seen this before?_) Selmak's tone had vague irritation crossed with wonder. They had shared much, this latest host and the symbiote, but it seemed that Jacob was a well of surprises. Every dip into their shared memory could hold some new fact or practice of the Tau'ri.

(Well, it's not like I've seen **every** memory of **every** moment you've been alive for the last **2400 years**.) Even the heartsick father in Jacob yielded to the routine of gentle ribbing that was so much a part of his life with Selmak. He'd lost that for a terrifying hour yesterday and was glad to have the equanimity of mind to engage in the gentle internal sarcasm they both enjoyed.

(_You make it sound like an eternity._) Selmak sent a wave of amusement at the part of them that was Jacob. An ingrained gallantry kept the late middle-aged man from voicing the true age of one of Egeria's first children. It was futile, of course, since they both knew _exactly_ how old Selmak was, but it was another part of their familiar game.

(Two millennia? Pffft.)

(_Brat._) Selmak's wave of disgruntled affection collided with a similar emotion from Jacob. The interaction between the waves swelled the emotion into an enormous upsurge of shared relief. The world felt topsy-turvy with Sam in danger, especially in danger they could neither identify nor fight, but these little snippets of familiarity balanced them both.

(_Seriously, Jacob, there must be more to it than that.)_ Selmak felt Jacob squirm in negation. That meant there was something worth finding here.

(What's to say? I haven't been in touch with her or her family in five or six years. I had no reason to think of her.) Jacob felt his consciousness wrap protectively around a series of interlinked memories with a jolt of surprise. Apparently there were some things he had avoided sharing with his symbiote. Selmak had similar pockets of privacy that both had silently agreed to ignore until they became relevant. He slowly released his grip on this complex, allowing them to experience it for the first time as a blended pair.

Selmak was very gentle and quiet as her consciousness sifted these tangled threads. (_This was the beginning of your estrangement from your son. Mark and Tina were terribly close and he adopted her hurt as his own. Tina became very close to your wife after her father died…and she did not smile for several years after the accident. Mark blamed you for Tina's agitation and her inability to comfort him as well as his mother's death. You felt doubly guilty in that Lucas died protecting you on a mission and then when Maggie… Jacob, did we not agree that the accident was not your fault?_) Selmak sent a wave of inquiry tinged with the absolute faintest traces of reproach. 2300-mumble years of harsh and varied experience had left a keen appreciation of survivor's guilt in the symbiote's memory.

(Yeah, well, apparently only **most** of me agrees with you. Can we not talk about that right now?) No wonder he'd subconsciously tucked these memories away and wrapped them in forgetfulness.

(_As you wish.) _Selmak sent back a wave of love and acceptance that let Jacob release his grip on the next few guarded memories.

Jacob smiled gratefully at Selmak's reaction as he thought of his odd family of old Air Force friends. Major Lucas Anderson, a fellow Air Force officer who was often stationed with him, had been his 2IC on several missions which included Captain George Hammond. The Andersons had been a bridge between the younger Hammond girls and older Carter siblings; Lucas' oldest daughter, formerly called Tina, was Mark's age, while her sister Cheryl was in the same grade as his Sammy and a younger Anderson sister was the best friend of Maxine Hammond. They'd been scattered by postings over the years, but their wives had kept in touch. Even more significantly, the men had served together in several 'special assignments' that their families had learned not to ask about. He felt Selmak sampling his regret at the amazing father Lucas had been and his own feeling of never being able to measure up to his lost friend. He mourned for the father he hadn't been able to be even with Lucas and George's examples. Selmak gently disengaged from the painful memories, sending Jacob a wave of love, reassurance and distraction.

(_So you knew this agent early in her life. Why is this problematic? I do not understand.)_ Selmak's curious mental voice ignored their shared memories as if they were still hidden.

(Besides the fact that she's just as stubborn as my children can be? Once she latches on to this investigation, nothing – and I do mean **nothing** short of death or dismemberment – will get her to let go. That's great while we're still assuming it's an Earth-based attack, but if we find there are offworld connections she'll have to be talked out of continuing her search. And I'm not sure that's humanly possible.) Jacob paused in his projection of gratitude to send an evil image back to his symbiote, who was 'innocently' replaying scenes of Jacob's own stubbornness. He ignored the nudge to amend his 'my children' to 'I' and tuned back in to the phone conversation.

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Christina Anderson was in a full volume piss-me-off-and-duck rant. It may not have been entirely justified, but she was beyond petty concerns like fairness and manners. "– didn't come to you, you came to me! First, you call me in the middle of the night and tell me to get this case started no matter what favors I have to call in. Then, I go to my boss oh-butt-early the next morning to convince him to send me _and_ my partner all the way across the country on the trail of a disappearance that is just barely coming over the wire as a MisPers case, which I don't generally work anyway, and has no apparent connection to the place you've sent us!" Her hands jumped into the air, throwing annoyance off like water. Then one drifted to her hip while the other kept count of her complaints.

"And _then_ I get here to find I'm playing den mother for a bunch of overgrown boychicks who'd rather stage pissing contests than actually investigate. Now that I've finally got something that might actually let me _help_ Sammy you're gonna whip out the old 'classified' excuse!" Her hands both gripped her hips as she stood akimbo. Jonas and Jack shuffled back an involuntary step; she looked more like Doctor Fraiser in this moment than any civilian had a right to.

"No," she continued firmly. "Don't even try it. You pulled me into this; you can damn well explain why you're pulling me out!" Her own soft Southern accent slipped out as she got more and more upset.

Hammond was feeling the stress of this situation himself. "Christina Lucille Anderson, you need to watch your tone!"

Jack and Jonas' eyes widened as their boss pulled out an older and more personal weapon than any they had heard him use before – the dreaded middle name. It didn't matter how old you were or what planet you were from, when someone older and more powerful than you called you by all your names in that universal parental discipline tone… you _knew_ you'd crossed a line.

Hammond took a breath as a very stubborn look formed on the agent's face. "Tina, it's _very_ important that I talk to my officers alone. There are aspects to this case you aren't familiar with and as much as you hate to hear it, they really are a matter of national security," he explained firmly.

Jack and Jonas watched her shake her head emphatically, but her tone was gentler as she continued. "I don't _care_ about national security, George. I care about _Sam_. You have to see that classifying all the evidence is the worst possible approach."

"We're _all _in this to find Sam, Tina," Hammond continued in a softer tone. He recognized the same frustrated determination in his surrogate niece that he depended on in Jack, Jonas and Teal'c. "Trust me on this – we're better equipped to deal with this material than the FBI is. And this doesn't mean we don't still need your help. You have access to sources that we don't. We need you and your partner to do some of the legwork that's just as important to finding Sam as the classified material."

"Fine, then classify only the stuff that is directly related to whatever part of Sam is national-security-esque!" Anderson consciously cooled her temper and tried logic. No matter who had gotten her onto this case, logic would get her further than emotion. She leaned onto Chief Ludlow's chair back on her locked arms as if doing a reverse push-up. "If her blood has some weird, secret chemical in it, leave us the hairs and fibers. We only have _one_ avenue of investigation in the van registration. Give us another point of reference to include or exclude suspects and you'll cut our search time in half! And what can photos tell you that we're not allowed to see, anyway? It's not like we weren't all out there when they were taken." She shoved herself upright and dragged one hand through shoulder length red hair.

"How did you know about the chemical in Major Carter's blood?" General Hammond barked. Whichever of his subordinates had given that away would be scrubbing the 'gate room with his toothbrush when this search was over.

"You can relax, sir," O'Neill offered. "She doesn't know what it is, what it's called, how it works, or what it means. She basically knows that the blood is the part we most want to classify."

"Colonel O'Neill, need I remind you of the level of clearance necessary to know even that?" Hammond's frown traveled in tandem with his stern voice. "We need _all_ the evidence because we don't want documents floating around the Federal government that specify which part of the evidence is of public record and which part _must_ be concealed. Once Major Carter is home she'll have enough to deal with without opening herself up to another kidnap attempt specifically to get the parts of her body that are most valuable on the open market! Classifying the evidence is for the major's own good!"

"Dammit, George…" Anderson muttered. "You're playing dirty and you know it." She paused for some silent mental gymnastics then concluded, "I don't like this." With her arms crossed firmly over her chest and a scowl plastered over her face, she looked very young.

"None of us do, Tina." Jacob popped in. Hearing the unexpected gentleness in her other surrogate uncle's voice seemed to undo her last sinew of resistance. "If you'll just let us get the classified information settled between us, we'll tell you everything we can when you come back in."

"Promise me," she demanded as she turned to leave the room.

"I promise," the generals said in unintentional unison.

Christina Anderson smiled reluctantly as she closed the door behind her.

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Chris' smile lingered a moment as she stepped into the hall. Leaving that office went against all her investigative instincts, but she really hadn't had a jurisdictional leg to stand on. It was one thing to protest when there was a vague mention of official secrets in an order that hadn't been given to her. It was another thing entirely to defy authority when confronted with inevitable surrender, even if logic and reason were on your side.

And it didn't mean the end of helping an old friend, either. She had been promised information by two men she (mostly) trusted, and even being shut out of the physical evidence didn't eject her from the case. Washington really was a small town in some ways, and everybody owed everybody else favors. If the information wasn't supersensitive, all it might take would be a phone call to get her answers, classified or not.

She jerked a little nod at Tio Murray (or whatever his _real_ name was) and the techs who were watching over the evidence and settled against the wall herself. Just as she closed her eyes for a second's peace, she heard something that made her heart sink.

"So, _Tina,_" Tapping sneered from his lounging spot against the opposite wall. "Got anything you need to tell your _trusted_ partner?"

Her tired brain raced back over the interview she'd just left. Security Chief Ludlow had left the door ajar on his way out of the office. Yes, the door had been open the entire time. Crap.

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Author's Note: First off, another enormous thank you to my beta, technetium, for inspired help and extraordinary constructive critiques! And again to my editrix and sister - that's one less you owe me, junior! ;-) And a sincere thank you to everyone who reviewed - I truly appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you thought and why.

A couple of things brought up in reviews and beta reading: "Colonel Jake" is a child's nickname for Jacob Carter established and retained from when he actually was a colonel. Yes, he's a general and yes, she knows it. It's an affectionate thing to differentiate him from an "Uncle Jake" already in the picture. There's a whole backstory with Agent Anderson's father and the generals, but this is the last of it we see except for a teeny bit in the next chapter. I understand people thinking the story is moving slowly, because it is - from a certain point of view. We'll actually only be with these characters until Downtime Day 18 in this much detail. I haven't decided yet whether or not we'll learn everything else that happened to SG-1 from 2003 to 2007 (and I'm actually not sure what happened to them yet - Moo hasn't told me everything), but it won't be in nearly this much detail. The next chapter has our first new lead! So the search heats up from this point on - stay tuned! And Review!


	11. Sins of Omission

Disclaimer: If you're reading this, you know I don't own anything even remotely related to Stargate. My poor FBI agents are mine all mine, but I make no money from them either. Please don't sue!

Warning! There are spoilers through mid-season six and a teeny outbreak of badly translated profanity in Spanish coming up. If that offends, avert your eyes, please!

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From Here to Alternity I: Canon minus A Major: The Truth, the Hole (in the) Truth, and Sins of Omission

_Previously in _From Here to Alternity I: Canon Minus A Major:

"Please don't take this the wrong way, George, Colonel Jake" Agent Anderson continued, "but _what the hell were the two of you thinking?_"

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"_So, _Tina_," Tapping sneered from his lounging spot against the opposite wall. "Got anything you need to tell your_ trusted_ partner?"_

Agent Anderson's_ tired brain raced back over the interview she'd just left. Yes, the door had been open the entire time. Crap._

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Hallway, Administration Building

Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

Downtime Day 12, late afternoon

"Tapping –"

"_Not. Here._"

"Okay," Chris acquiesced. "Where?"

Agent Michael Tapping clenched his fists spasmodically and pivoted towards the front of the building. He couldn't talk to her, couldn't _look_ at her right now without wanting to wrap his long fingers around her throat and squeeze until this body snatcher told him what she'd done with the partner he trusted. He could hear the tap-tap-da-tap of the imposter's high heels trot in the rhythm his partner used to keep up with his longer legs. As they neared the front door, a ray of sunlight caught the copper highlights in his partner's hair and the brisk, brilliant smile that she used to thank a ranger for holding the glass front door for them, but it had to be a mistake. This just couldn't be real.

His best friend, his colleague, his _partner_ of four years wouldn't drag him out into the desert on a hopeless case she'd taken as a favor to some general. It just wasn't possible that she'd deliberately get him assigned to a case three time zones from home that would be buried in the classified archive section before it ever got solved.

And lie to him about it.

He walked faster, pumping his arms as if he could outrun this truth if he just sped up a little, didn't look back, closed his eyes and ears and –

"Mike." Her soft command stopped him mid-stride. He almost stumbled into their car before bracing his arm on the roof and catching his breath. He wouldn't look at Chris as he unlocked the sedan and slipped into the driver's seat. After a long moment, she climbed in beside him and gingerly closed the door. Silence coated the interior of the car and rose to fill the space between them.

Tapping fidgeted behind the wheel. He looked up to the cloudless sky, then over to the mostly full parking lot, and finally back at the dashboard. His simmering temper was cooling into a disappointed sludge of betrayal, and he didn't want that. He didn't really want to ask his partner how deep the sins of omission went, how often she'd used the bureau for her own ends. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

He'd been less than enthusiastic four years ago when his partner-and-mentor finally retired and Human Resources assigned him a tiny chick from Profiling with about half his experience. She may have been human, but he had his own resources, thank-you-very-much, and he had better things to do than break in Little Miss Shrink. Tapping saw himself as a new version of the old-fashioned G-man with a gun, a badge… and a modem. He was an enthusiast for all things technical and complicated, and he had a reputation for straight shooting bluntness second only to his by-the-book integrity. He and his old partner had been sent all over the country to attack corruption and e-crimes, and he'd be lying if he disavowed all ambition to retire in twenty years as the FBI Director. Then some genius in personnel saddled him with the redheaded stepchild of the Profiling Department who needed field experience to get a promotion. And then he'd heard about her early career and the black marks on her record that six years in profiling hadn't been able to erase. So, no, it hadn't been love at first sight.

But Chris was okay for an egghead. She didn't try to get him to talk about his nightmares, his potty training or how he felt about his mother, and she worked hard to keep up with a partner twice her size. He was more accurate on the firing range, but she was surprisingly lethal in hand-to-hand. She credited growing up military with a clutch of fiery siblings with teaching her that quick and dirty was the best way to fight. And they complemented each other. She could coax the most hardened wise guy to reveal information, and the victims' families who had complained about his lack of feeling seemed to eat out of her hand. Their case resolution statistics were consistently impressive and he'd come to depend on her insight into the minds of people while he hacked the minds out of their computers.

And then came the test. Her superiors in Profiling wanted her back to oversee a new project, and she was considering coming in from the field just as soon as they finished this undercover case. The Mesarin crime family was _thisclose_ to giving them crucial information that would lead to the indictment of their entire upper echelon. Unfortunately, Chris' 'boss' in the family chose the wrong side in a bloody feud and she had been ambushed in a general purge of his lieutenants. She'd been shot and stabbed nearly to death and he was sure that if she ever got well enough to return to active duty she'd choose a safe, cushy desk job in Profiling over field work with him. But his partner was tougher than even he knew, and she'd gotten right back out there with him as soon as she was able. They'd never said much about it, but he knew she'd picked him over Profiling and it cemented his faith in their personal and professional interdependence. He'd have sworn on a stack of FBI Manuals that she didn't have a lying bone in her body… but he'd apparently been wrong.

Tapping put the key into the ignition and turned on the air conditioning to dispel the heat and the silence. His face was uncommonly immobile, and the betrayal in his eyes could just stay there. An hour ago he would have backed her honesty against the Director himself and the sudden knowledge that she was manipulating their partnership for her own ends rocked him more than a sudden earthquake would've.

"I have to know," he said quietly. "And I don't want to know. I just… Why?"

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Agent Christina Anderson consciously made her hands and face relax. Arguing for the better part of a day, then defying respected friends she hadn't seen in too long after seeing that damn tape had her wound up to a fight-flight-or-burst-into-tears peak. She wasn't going to overinterpret Tapping's every facial twitch to plump up the unease and anger she already felt. She was _not _going to give in and cry as she hadn't been able to after seeing Sam fall to the ground in blood-soaked exhaustion, probably poisoned by the knife that had _cut_ and _sliced_ and _stabbed_ and –

She breathed deeply through a suddenly tight chest. Her flashbacks had receded with counseling and physical therapy, because she was _strong_, dammit – physically and mentally. Watching four people gang up on an old friend felt far too much like the three man hit team she hadn't been able to fight off for long, but it _wasn't the same._ Sam hadn't been shot when multiple stab wounds didn't kill her. Sam hadn't lain there, bleeding out, hearing the sirens fade in and out as the cavalry rode to the rescue. The operations, the physical therapy, the trial – all those were Chris' memories. She was an experienced enough psychologist to recognize the consequences of imbuing a victim with her pain rather than dealing with it herself. And an experienced enough agent to know she needed to put her anguish away until she got through with this case.

Chris wasn't back there in the aftermath of Mesarin, she was here in a car with a pissed off partner and a dreaded complication. Tapping's eyes stared at a point a few degrees past her shoulder as he contemplated… whatever he was processing through that nimble brain of his. He would be angry and hurt and nasty about it, and then she'd talk him around like she always did, right? Right. She watched the tense set of his shoulders and willed hers to relax. She needed to get a hold of herself if she intended to have this discussion.

Tapping's voice caught her attention before she was really ready to talk. "I have to know," he said quietly. "And I don't want to know." He turned to look at her while his hands still clenched the steering wheel. "I just… Why?"

"Why what?" she countered softly. His angry gaze snapped up to hers and she defused him as best she could. "I'm not trying to be sarcastic, Tapping. I honestly want to know which part you're asking about. Why did I get this case or why didn't I tell you I had a connection to it?"

His humorless laugh chilled her as much as his rigid spine. She didn't think she'd ever seen him this upset. "Why did you throw away four years of trust by lying to me? Let's start with that one."

"I didn't lie to you," she returned calmly. She locked her temper inside a lead-lined, fireproof, triple deadbolted box deep within her chest. She clenched her hands inside her jacket pockets and willed her expression to blandness.

"What do _you_ call it then?" Something ugly lurked behind Tapping's ire and Chris deliberately didn't pursue it.

She took one hand out of its black silk prison and ran it through her hair in a familiar gesture of exasperation. "I call it doing a favor for an old friend who asked for some perfectly reasonable help."

He snorted in disbelief, but allowed her to continue.

"Believe it or not, this wasn't supposed to turn into the case of the century, Tapping." Her hand lay carefully flat against her black trousers, with only the tiny flash of white at her knuckles to show her tension. "I wanted to come out here, see what I could find to set my father's old friend's mind at ease, and go home after finding no evidence of desertion or foul play. That's all."

It was her partner's turn to react as his hands took a too careful grip on the gear shaft. "And what if you had?" Her blank look made him elaborate. "What if you _had_ found evidence of desertion or foul play? What then? Would you have just swept it under the rug and let your _old friend_ take care of it?"

Her teeth were self-gritting. Who knew? She pried her jaws open to spit her answers back in chunks of icy disdain. "I wouldn't. Have let. It go. I wouldn't have _had_ to let it go. Because I know George Hammond. General Hammond wouldn't send me out here after the kind of officer who needed a whitewash."

Tapping faced her with an unrepentant expression. "Is that so? And I'm just supposed to depend on your standards of behavior to prove that?"

Chris frowned in puzzlement. This wasn't the direction she thought he'd take, and she wasn't precisely sure how to defuse him. She responded carefully, "Major Carter was kidnapped and we have proof."

"And what if you didn't? What if she really _had_ deserted or sold out and it was your responsibility to bring that evidence back? Could you have done that? Or would you choose to let your father's old friend keep his illusions? Would you have just managed to forget the inconvenient facts if I didn't know all the particulars?" Tapping's doubt ripped through her control the way that his anger hadn't been able to.

"You know me better than that, Tapping!" she snapped. "Regardless of where the evidence leads or what the job asks, we do it. That's the way we've worked together for the last four years." Her firm tone matched the set of her mouth and her upright posture.

"Maybe I _don't_ know you better than that, Chris! You didn't tell me anything about asking the director for the case! And what about letting me come here with no warning about the military advisers and your good friend, their commanding officer? That's _not_ the way we've worked together for the last four years, Agent Anderson." Tapping's lanky frame was coiled into fraught stillness as he kept his eyes on hers. His voice went low and deathly sincere. "I don't know exactly how your partnerships worked before, but I can't work with someone I don't trust."

Chris shuddered as she realized where he was going with this. For most of the ten years since her first partnership had dissolved, she'd managed to avoid discussing the exact circumstances behind Special Agent David Turner's dismissal from the Bureau and subsequent criminal conviction. Tapping had been her first field partner since David and he'd eventually come to see in her the real agent behind the rumors about the disgraced agent's infamous ex-protégée. He'd come to have faith in her honesty and now that faith had been damaged. She let out a slow breath. No matter how much he'd disturbed her with his angry doubt, he deserved answers.

"I grew up knowing the Hammonds and the Carters; our families were very close. My father was career Air Force like George and Colonel Jake, but most of that career was classified." She kept her voice level, letting no hint of old emotions color her expression. "I can't tell you exactly what happened, but when I was a teenager my father was KIA. My mom and my sisters and my brother and I never knew what happened. I tried for years to find out, but I got the official stonewall every time. And … it ate me alive."

Her eyes went hollow and dark remembering those times. She knew the bare bones of her explanation sounded melodramatic, but she had no intention of discussing depression, rebellion and eating disorders with the man beside her. It was all behind her now and she intended to keep it that way.

"They found a way to answer my questions that didn't compromise any of us. Or security. It was the worst time in my life… and they made it go away. I owe them more than I can possibly say, Tapping. I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything from the beginning, but I honestly never thought it would be an issue." Her solemn face begged for his understanding.

He couldn't find it in himself to give it.

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"There didn't seem to be any reason to mention a tenuous connection I had with the victim ten years ago." Chris saw the light of battle reignite in her partner's eyes and knew she'd stepped in it. As of ten seconds ago they'd only had some unresolved issues. By admitting a connection directly with Sam, she'd crossed the line from 'dubious integrity' to 'enemy of the state' in her partner's mind. And it was all David Turner's fault.

Actually, it was all the NID's fault, and if she ever found the operatives who had set her first partner up and tainted her professional life with their slime trail…

"I thought the only connection here was with _an old friend of your father's_," Tapping bit out. "Are you, the agent in charge, admitting that you have a relationship of some kind with the victim of a crime you _volunteered_ to investigate? Sounds like 'using Bureau resources for personal purposes', if I remember the letter in your personnel file correctly. Funny how that crops up again here."

Chris bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding to Tapping's assertion. David Turner, the agent who showed her the ropes for the entire two year probationary period all agents had to undergo, had been removed from the Bureau on trumped up charges of fabricating and destroying evidence. The NID officials they had investigated were better protected than either agent knew. Once David had been put on trial, Chris had defied orders – and common sense – and kept pursuing the investigation that had brought her partner down. She had gotten off with a reprimand in her professional file about 'using Bureau resources for personal purposes' and a transfer out of the field into the Profiling Department. Her doctorate in psychology was better suited there, anyway, but Chris had never managed to escape the whiff of evidence tampering that had clung to her first field partner. It never mattered in Profiling, where they were responsible for finding the reasons behind the evidence rather than collecting it, but in the field that reputation could be crippling.

"Does this have anything to do with the way you're just rolling over and giving up all our evidence? Are you colluding with the victim's superiors in allowing a spurious claim of 'national security' to restrict Bureau access to inconvenient evidence?" Her shaggy, unsure partner of a moment ago was replaced wholesale with SuperAgentByTheBook Michael S. Tapping, Federal Bureau of Investigation. His four years of faith in her melted away as if they'd never existed.

"Don't blow this out of proportion, Tapping," she snapped. "I knew the victim as a child, but I hadn't been in contact with her for years. Her commanding officer was an old friend of my father's who wanted someone to look into her disappearance. Following up on a missing persons case is hardly a misuse of Bureau resources."

Tapping started to make a comment about the evidentiary implications, but Chris cut him off. "And there's no evidence of guilt here for me to hide! She's not guilty of anything; someone kidnapped her! It's not like there's a huge conspiracy here! General Hammond had information that Major Carter had intended to visit this national park on her journey. It was the only clue they had. The San Diego Police, who were running the Missing Persons investigation, would be completely unable to search the park until the case had entered FBI jurisdiction anyway. It would eventually land on some agent's desk. Rather than let it be buried under routine inquiries for a week – and that only after the locals to exhausted their leads and asked for help – he called me and asked me to look into it immediately."

Both her hands were resting silently by her sides now almost at a form of attention. Her voice was calm and cool, her face was composed and relaxed, and the fire of helpless frustration burned in her blue eyes. She knew he'd twist this into something horrible, but she made herself accept the coming storm with grace and poise. This whole escapade had been her sacrifice to repay men who had done more for her after her father's death than she could ever explain. If it was becoming less a sacrifice of her time and energy and more a human sacrifice, so be it.

"So what you're admitting to me is that you deliberately and with full knowledge used the resources of the Bureau for personal reasons? You conspired with a member of the _United States Military_ to use a _civilian_ organization to locate evidence that has now been concealed under the heading of 'national security' even though the investigation is _nowhere near_ complete?" Tapping's smooth, subtle questions were neither.

Chris tried for one last stab at her longtime partner's sense of proportion. "It's not like this is completely beyond the pale, Tapping. Someone would have had to investigate sooner or later. I just helped move the timetable up a bit and asked the director to assign me to it rather than some random agent. The evidence would be classified either way."

His touchy side pounced instead. "So you _admit_ that you went to a superior within in the Bureau and asked for a special assignment under false pretences? An assignment that violates several of the regulations of professional ethics? Only think if your personal feelings for the victim had led to us missing or burying crucial evidence of foul play or even a less than savory motive on the part of the missing officer! Are you claiming to be completely objective on the matter of classifying the evidence, or are you willing to just take your _old friend_'s word for it that this material is a matter of 'national security'?" His scornful tone made the last five words a deadly insult.

And right then she knew that her career was in jeopardy. Her sin of omission could not be overlooked by the part of Michael Tapping that had been insistent on finding some proof of treachery on the major's part. Even if he would assent to working with her again, she'd never be able to overlook his subconscious focus on the greater glory of Michael Tapping to the detriment of her professional integrity and Sam's chances of rescue. Chris took a deep breath and let her expression harden into a professional mask even Michael couldn't see through. "This conversation," she stated calmly, "is over."

She opened the car door, stood up, closed it firmly and walked away. It wasn't as easy as it should have been.

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Video Surveillance Monitoring Room, Administration Building

Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

Downtime Day 12, half an hour later

Ranger Robert Alvarez fairly danced into his de facto office with an unaccustomed grin breaking over his face. This was, hands down, the best he'd felt in days. He grinned widely and surveyed his domain, trying to figure out the best way to set this room to rights again.

He hadn't gotten past 'remove extra monitors and tables' on a mental to-do list before his plan ran into its first complication. He sashayed up to the person holding her head in her hands over the table he planned to remove and tapped her gently on one hunched shoulder. She jumped and looked up at him with a too-calm face and mournful eyes.

"Agent Anderson, what's the matter? Are you okay? I thought you'd be jumping up and down right about now." Alvarez tried to decide if there was a new wrinkle in the case or if she was just too tired to be ecstatic.

She snorted and straightened her spine. "And _why_ should I be jumping exactly? We've been here for days and I've managed to get the evidence classified and confiscated, destroy my partnership doing what I thought was right, and get roughly nowhere in trying to find the missing woman." Her bitterness flavored the very air around her.

"Wait. What?" Alvarez's honest confusion and indignation wafted across her tired face and she looked at him with more interest. "Didn't he tell you !"

A suppressed tingle of investigative instinct ran through her like a shudder. "Didn't who tell me what?" she asked softly.

"That rat bastard!"

"Alvarez?"

"Your partner, Tapping. Hijo de puta!"

"_Deputy Alvarez!_" she snapped. Not that she didn't think Michael was a son of a … gun right now, but whatever Alvarez wasn't saying yet was vastly more important.

He took a deep breath and answered. "We found the van owners. It's not some whackjob with a grudge. It's a serious lead."

Her silent shock pulled more gentleness from Alvarez than he thought he could feel for any FBI Agent right now. He responded quietly, "the van has a connection to a federal agency. We have a good lead on the people that took Major Carter. I thought Agent Tapping went to tell you."

"_You_ tell me," she demanded.

Gulping, he complied.

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* * *

Author's Note: So, love it? Hate it? Wouldn't give it CPR if it collapsed in front of you? Drop me a line and let me know what you thought of this installment and any guesses you have for what happens next. Please Review!Messages from readers arethe best remedy for writer's block known to... me. REVIEWS make me do the chair hula. And, ya know, re-inspire me to work on the next chapters. Stupid writer's block. Please and thank you to everyone who commented on the last installment - I really appreciate your feedback.

As usual, TREMENDOUS thanks to technetium for the beta! You rock! You roll! You answer your email! ;-) Special extra-gooey gratitude for noticing the little head-scratcher in the upcoming chapter that inspired me to rewrite this and make it loads better.

And chocolate chip happys to my editrix, who'll never read this on the web anyway. ;-)


	12. Good News, Bad News

From Here to Alternity: Canon minus A Major: Good News, Bad News

I do not own "Stargate: SG-1" or its characters or plotlines. That's reserved for Gekko, Double Secret, MGM/Sony, SciFiChannel, etc.

If I _did_: a) Daniel and Teal'c would do battle naked in a ring of Jell-oon a weekly basis; b) Sam wouldcheer for the blue jell-o contenderfrom the pool table as she earned enoughmoney hustling gorgeous guest stars to fund the entire program, and; c) O'Neill would have found _SOME_ reason to do the Pee-Wee Herman 'Tequila' dance over the six years I've seen. Possibly more than once if I had any rights to "Window of Opportunity". ;-)

So, me no own. Please not to sue. Or snicker too loudly.

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Security Chief's Office, Administration Building

Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

Downtime Day 12, late afternoon

Jack O'Neill sat his weary bones down in a chair in front of the chief's desk and rubbed his eyes. In the forty-five minutes since Agent Chris 'Tina' Anderson had reluctantly left them to their own devices, Generals Hammond and Carter had managed to conference in Major Davis, get SG-1's orders faxed to a machine down the hall, argue ferociously about Agent Anderson and what she could know, and run him and Jonas ragged making arrangements to get this whole mess shipped to Colorado ASAP. He was actually looking forward to getting into Doc Fraiser's clutches once Carter was found. Rest and milkshakes. Fishing shows on Jonas' TV. Oh, and donuts. 'Do-nuts…' his inner Homer Simpson drooled. He smiled.

Of course, that was the intergalactic signal for the office door behind him to come slinging back on its hinges and nearly splatter his head all over the wall.

"What the hell?" O'Neill sputtered as nearly 300 pounds of pissy Jaffa came barreling in the door, followed by a Kelownan pushing an overburdened evidence cart and a tiny, furious redhead.

"According to Jaffa tradition, I must now inform you that I seek the death of Agent Michael Tapping." Teal'c's threat boomed over the phone lines to Cheyenne Mountain and snapped George and Jacob to attention.

"I second that," Jonas scowled.

"I thought we agreed on dismemberment first," Agent Anderson snarled furiously.

O'Neill's eyes widened as Teal'c began to pace in the minute office. "Okay, _now_ I gotta know. T, the last time you talked like that was… four years ago. What happened?"

Jonas squinted curiously at his team leader. "Four years ago?"

"Maybourne," Jack muttered, casting an eye towards the FBI Agent in their midst. As Jonas nodded his understanding, Jack asked, "So what's going on?"

"You won't believe what that… that… slimeball did! He had the nerve to –"

"This ha'taka has no honor! He has endangered a fellow warrior through – "

"Of course, dismemberment is a wee bit messy. Beheading? Or a pitchfork carrying mob? Ooo, with torches –"

_"QUIET!"_ roared Selmak and Hammond in unison.

The chief's office went pin-drop silent. Jonas, who'd heard the metallic Goa'uld voice clearly, and Jack, who knew how acute Anderson's observations were, glanced at each other in suppressed panic. Teal'c simmered without a sound, but he didn't seem to care that they may have provoked a breech of security. Hammond and Jacob could almost be heard wincing over the secure line.

Christina Anderson looked at the phone, looked at the guys in the room with her, and looked at the phone again. "Okay, then," she said breezily. "Now, I'd ask if you want the good news or the bad news first, but I'm still too pissed off to care _what_ you want _or_ what you two are hiding from me. So, the bad news..."

A general (and General) babble arose after she broke the silence. The sound ebbed and flowed for thirty seconds of meaningless cacophony before Anderson broke out the shrieking whistle she'd demonstrated during their first meeting in this office. As before, she got silence in response.

"Okay, George? Colonel Jake? Read my lips: I. Don't. Care." Anderson gestured imperiously towards the two other seats in the room and Jonas sunk into one. Teal'c was, of course, unmoved. "I don't care what Tio's real name is. I don't care what the name of his tribe is or from what bizarre culture that tattoo he keeps trying to hide originates. I don't care what voice effectColonel Jake was playing with instead of paying attention. So chill out and listen up. Your turns to talk will come." Anderson's controlling tone held them all spellbound as she stalked to the vacant seat and sat down. "Personally, I think your turns should wait until we barbecue my soon-to-be-ex-partner's entrails over an open flame, but that's just me." And she folded her arms over her chest and waited for their reaction.

Jack couldn't resist. "Mmmm. Entrails." His Homer voice brought a tiny snicker from Jonas and an ease of Teal'c's frown.

Anderson and the two generals ignored him, although she did shoot him an exasperated look. He gave it a four out of ten on the Fraiser scale.

"Tina –" Hammond tried.

"Aht!" she squelched with a universal 'talk to the hand' gesture. She took the floor again and stepped closer to the phone; pacing was the only thing that kept her enraged exuberance leashed. "My turn now. For the bad news." She faltered for a moment and dropped into Chief Ludlow's desk chair.

"I think I'll be sanctioned and possibly fired within the week. Tapping heard us talking through the open door earlier and he's beyond pissed. Usually, he's a great guy, but this case has brought out the jerk in him and he's determined to believe the worst of you guys. And me." A flicker of pain vanished into her usual unflappable agent mask. That might have fooled the guys before her non-professional personality came to the fore, but the lack of animation on her face only accented the depth of her hurt.

"Tina, why would you be sanctioned?" Jacob asked in his own voice.

She gave a little sigh, but Jonas jumped in to answer the question before she had time. "I think her… relationship to Sam precludes her from involvement with the investigation. She's supposedly too personally involved to objectively investigate. I'm guessing that you didn't tell your boss right away?"

Chris nodded as a disgruntled frown unfroze her face. "Plus, Tapping has a rule book stuck up his ass for situations just like this. I thought that there was enough time and distance between me and George that no one would care if I opened the investigation for him. I didn't really expect to find anything here, so it wouldn't have been a problem. But now we have an interdepartmental brouhaha because of the classified materials and military involvement." She glowered at the phone in case the disgusted frustration in her voice wasn't clear enough. "Plus, there was a little incident early in my career. When my first partner was framed for destroying and fabricating evidence in an investigation of an NID office, he got convicted and I got 'administratively disciplined' for pursuing the investigation and trying to prove his innocence. So there's a strike against me already."

Jack and Jonas had both jerked a little as Chris mentioned the NID, but it stood to reason that the main civilian investigative agency charged with finding public corruption would cross swords with the NID sooner or later. A considering frown crossed Jonas' face as he contemplated the repercussions of Chris' admission. From what he read, a letter in her file wouldn't be enough to get Chris fired from the FBI, but the NID made a powerful enemy with a long and vicious institutional memory. If it felt threatened by Chris' cooperation with SG-1, there was no telling what could happen to her career. Maybe even her life.

"Sooner or later, I'm toast. I might not actually be fired for this, since it's not a _huge_ ethics violation, but I have a feeling the Bureau's going to want a scapegoat if this case gets messy. Which it has. And I'm definitely off the investigation as soon as Michael can make his case to our boss." Her matter-of-fact tone couldn't hide a flavor of stunned grief infusing her words.

The men within earshot could sympathize with her sudden plight. All of them were doing a job they loved and/or were born to do, and more than once the SGC or the Tok'ra had been threatened with permanent annihilation. Losing your life's work was a lot more devastating than just being fired. Not that being fired didn't suck enough. Of course, none of them would've chosen differently, either. Every man within earshot was a member of Sam Carter's blood or honorary family and none would be happy handing the search over to, say, SG-3 under the direct command of the Pentagon. Because they _were_ "too close" to the investigation, they'd each rather give up their life's work than be excluded and forced to rely on others to find Sam and bring her home.

"How long do you have?" Hammond asked quietly.

Christina sighed. "Well, it's past business hours on the East Coast and my boss is busy this week with his granddaughter's high school graduation. Normally he lives in his office, but I have it on good authority that he's strictly a nine-to-fiver for the next few days. Or else." She leaned forward and propped her elbows on the desk, hands twined in a prayerful pose of intense thought. "So despite his most frantic efforts, Tapping can't get me reassigned until the morning after tomorrow. Tomorrow is the actual graduation day and the director will be incommunicado all day. That gives us a window."

"A window to what?" Jacob asked patiently.

"And here comes the good news." She flashed a shark-like smile at the phone. "We've got a lead on Sam."

A second's silence preceded tumult from the generals and O'Neill. Jonas and Teal'c already knew this much. It was the source of their bloodlust.

"Hang on!" Jonas shouted. "Let her tell you. We've only got the bare facts from her, not the lead itself!"

"Talk." Teal'c's demand was as ominous as an avalanche's rumble. It silenced the other men as they tuned in to her every breath.

"Well, the 'dancing about on his grave, singing alleluias' discussion has a few facets. The first one is that while we were having our earlier conversation, Tapping traced the van registration back to its owners. The second part, and the part that has me voting for disembowelment, is that he hid that information from _all_ of us because he was pissed at me. The third part is the actual lead, which I got from Robert Alvarez approximately seven minutes ago. This is his recollection as verbatim as I can recall it." Chris closed her eyes and began to remember aloud.

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Video Surveillance Monitoring Room, Administration Building

Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

Downtime Day 12, earlier this afternoon

"Found it!"

Ranger Robert Alvarez whipped his head around to watch the FBI agent fairly wriggling in his chair with delight. That was a huge change from the behavior he'd displayed for the last interminable 24 hours. Agent Michael Tapping had spent yesterday either hooking up 'the kid with the photographic memory' to various databases or calling his partner everytwenty minutes. So far the line of people willing to strangle him included everyone who'd come into the video room or had to deal with his partner's increasing crankiness. By agent-in-charge fiat Anderson had declared herself "_fine,_ Michael" and turned her cell phone's ringer off except for hourly status reports by yesterday afternoon. Tapping had been sulking in caffeinated silence ever since. If he weren't so dedicated to following the white van's registration through an interstate maze of Department of Motor Vehicles databases, the FBI would be out one special agent by now. Unfortunately, he seemed to be making the only progress so far.

Not that he was the only one working. The facial recognition programs had shown Jonas Quinn possible partial matches for video stills of Major Carter's assailants for the last twenty-four hours. After a frustrating and fruitless evening, night and morning scanning the FBI, TSA, NSA and CIA offerings, the young man had gone to check on his friends' progress with the argument over classifying the evidence collected yesterday. In other circumstances he might have enjoyed perusing the information available on hypersecure servers, but by the time they broke for lunch today he'd cursed the invention of the World Wide Web. Neither Deputy Alvarez nor the rotating parade of park rangers helping him had managed to get an image of the escaping van on local traffic cameras. It was as if the damn thing had generated its own black hole.

"Uh, 'found it'?" Robert inquired gingerly. The atmosphere in the room had gone from cordial to poisonous in a very short time, and it was hovering on the venomous side. Not only were they getting no answers, the fight over custody of the evidence had spilled over to a temporary truce that was tensing with each unsuccessful search. Jonas was a good kid, and no one could blame him if he'd cut out as soon as he got a chance.

"What is he talking about?" Alvarez's assistant grumped.

"I don't know," Alvarez said. "Agent Tapping, what did you find?"

Silence was all he heard.

His assistant tried his own luck. "Agent –"

"What!" Tapping screeched at his screen. Now Alvarez and his assisting ranger colleague were _both _staring at the rumpled man.

"Whadd'ya mean, 'what'?" the other ranger growled. He'd lost all sense of humor after the fifth hour of fruitlessly skimming roadside cameras. None of them minded painstaking information analysis (usually known as tedious scutwork) in pursuit of the missing major. Tedious scutwork without result, however…

"Agent Tapping?" Alvarez tried again.

Tapping didn't seem to have heard them. His lips moved urgently as he read something fascinating on his laptop screen. He'd first glowed with the satisfaction of a puzzle solved, but now his frown grew deeper with every second. He scowled at the screen and slumped back, raking his fingers through his floppy dark bangs. "Crap!" he muttered.

"Uh, Michael?" Alvarez's assistant contributed. He, too, was ignored.

"Tapping!" Robert barked as the last of his patience left him. It took channeling Colonel O'Neill to finally get the agent's attention. But the tall, dark haired agent didn't seem to realize that they'd been calling his name. When he finally looked up, Alvarez tried to prompt him with, "What!"

Tapping blinked in bewildered irritation. "What 'what!' All I said was crap. That's barely even a curse word."

Robert sighed in irritation. "It wasn't that, Agent Tapping. You said you _found_ something and then you reacted _loudly_ to it. What did you just find?"

Tapping blinked again. "Oh, that. Well, I finally got into the Nevada Department of Motor Vehicles and got their ancient system to search by VIN number. We were kinda right about the falsified plates, by the way, but they weren't stolen. At least I don't think so."

"_And?_" Alvarez saw the haze of possible researching-stolen-plates methods dancing in the agent's eyes. He exchanged a completely frustrated glance with his assistant as Tapping's attention visibly slipped away from them.

"Agent Tapping, _what did you find_?" The assistant ranger grasped fleeting patience in his clenched fists and held on.

"I was getting there." Tapping really didn't see his onrushing death in the eyes of his fellow searchers. Strange, that. "The van is registered to a corporate fleet out of Las Vegas, but the corporation name rang a nasty little bell. So I did a Federal Commerce Department and Department of Justice search. I cross-referenced through the Nevada Secretary of State's website..." Tapping's attention threatened to slip away again and Ranger Alvarez rose up in front of him. Tapping noted the change in background not at all. He continued, "And then I realized."

Alvarez and his assistant had a sudden psychic moment. '_If he doesn't get on with it right now, I'll kill him. A lot._' Luckily for Tapping,he kept talking.

"That company is on the watch list for links to illegitimate domestic covert operations. I can't get past the corporate stonewall here, but if I could come up with another angle, I could know for sure..." Tapping scrolled down again, chewing his bottom lip.

The assistant's grip slipped and he struggled to keep his tone even. "What _kind_ of 'illegitimate domestic covert operations'? Corporate espionage? Tax evasion? Links to terrorism?"

Tapping focused momentarily. "Oh. The covert operations are all about gathering information on new technology applications. Some of them seem to be monitoring unusual industrial projects, but there's another kind, too."

"And?" Alvarez prompted. "What other kind would that be?"

"The kind that are funded by an agency I can't get much on. At least not anything I'd need to verify their involvement here. I wonder…"

"The name of the agency?" Robert prompted again. Tapping had commenced navigating his new thought process and barely looked up.

"The agency you were just talking about?" Alvarez's assistant contributed. Tapping gave him a puzzled frown.

"Which! Frickin'! Agency?" Robert Alvarez demanded.

Tapping gave a supremely annoyed look and told him. Alvarez and the other ranger turned to each other, bug-eyed. 'Crap' hardly seemed to cover it.

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Security Chief's Office, Administration Building

Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

Downtime Day 12, late afternoon

"And the agency in question?" Anderson purred. "Everyone's favorite scumbags. The NID."

Another second of silence held them all in its grasp.

"I'll call the President," Hammond offered, moving to hang up the phone. "Let me call you back."

The click on the line was followed by a flash of grim enthusiasm from Jonas and O'Neill. Apparently Tapping was _not_ forgiven.

"Dibs on a pitchfork," Jack called, raising a hand.

"Torch," Jonas grinned fiercely, shooting his arm into the air.

"Machete!" Chris called in berserker joy.

They all turned to Teal'c, who simply flexed his huge hands. They were suitably impressed.

"But there's a problem here, guys," Anderson offered.

"Indeed," Teal'c seconded.

Anderson gave him an odd look, then shook her head. "Okay _my_ problem is that I can't wait here for my boss to call and drag me back to D.C. in disgrace. That does us no good. If you guys are really planning to take this to the NID, you'll need my help."

"Oh, we're pretty good at takin' those guys down," O'Neill bragged. Anderson and Teal'c both raised a brow at that assertion.

"Indeed. But do you not believe there is danger of retaliation for MajorCarter's recent assistance destroying rogue NID operations?" Teal'c's eyebrow rose as he stared O'Neill down. "I believe this abduction is more complicated than it would at first seem."

"You think they're gonna come after us? It's been what, eight weeks? And I thought she and the other guy got the leaders of their little treason club," O'Neill asserted. He had been imprisoned at the time of Carter's crusade with Agent Whatshisname and he'd accidentally forgotten to get a copy of the report to read for the two weeks they'd had before Maybourne's Moon… and all the time afterward. Whoops. Accidents seemed to happen _a lot_ to Jack's paperwork – some of them he didn't even arrange ahead of time.

"I _so_ want to know, but I know better than to ask. 'Classified'." Anderson muttered darkly. Still, any enemy of the NID...

"Sorry," Jonas offered with an apologetic smile.

"Look, I'll let you guys debate specifics later. And I want everything you can tell me about getting around those guys. My ex-partner is still in prison, and if I've got nothing left to lose in the Bureau's eyes…" She shook her head a little and pinned each member of SG-1 with a look. "I can help you by continuing the investigation into Sam's disappearance in the most public way possible. If I can get them focused on my supposed cluelessness, it fosters the illusion that we know nothing about the NID's involvement here.

"I can go to San Diego and give you the cover of normal friends and family interviews, clue collection, federal horning-in on local investigation, all that stuff. We need to make this caselook as normal as possible if you want any chance of taking the NID by surprise. While I'm off making noise and stirring up trouble, you can sneak your samples off to your secret hideout and start collecting real evidence." Her cool recitation couldn't mask the frustration of a born detective watching clues float just out of reach. "I know this case hasn't got a prayer of prosecution now, but I need you to keep me informed of what you find."

"That may not be possible," Colonel O'Neill regretted.

"Look, I know you won't let me into your secret little reindeer gamesthere inthe big ole mountain of doom, but I need to know which NID buttons I need to push to cover what you've found. For that, I have to know at least part of whatthe evidence revealsand what you plan to do with it."

Even obstreperous O'Neill seemed impressed with Anderson's matter-of-fact offer. For a straight laced, squeaky clean good guy she seemed to have an excellent grasp of subterfuge. He decided he liked this warrior woman version of the calm peacemaker they'd seen over the last few days. Too bad she was a Feeb without high enough clearance, because he had a feeling she could've been a real help with tracking the actual rogue NIDguys they wanted.

She continued. "What I need you to know, and to tell the generals, is that I'm taking the car _now_ to pack up my hotel room and book a flight. If you want transportation, one of you needs to come with me and drive the colonel's car back here. That means Tapping willprobably be stranded here, but I frankly don't care since he was holding out on me when he _knew_ how important it was to me to find Sam."

"Asshole," O'Neill supplied for her. The curve of her lips went from pinched to almost grinning as she responded.

"Personally, I was thinking ass_hat_, but you gotta call 'em like you see 'em." Despite her jovial tone, her eyes blazed with betrayal as deep as Tapping's when he found her connection to the case. This was definitely the death knell of their partnership. Only Jonas could see the edge of grief and desperation lingering around her fury. "I'll rent another car and drive to San Diego. That should misdirect any observers and give you a day or two of cover if I leave a paper trail. It might not be much, but it's what I can do to help before I get yanked back to D.C."

"Thank you, Chris. That'll be great," Jonas said softly. He knew what it meant to go against the people who depended on you when you discovered the path to truth diverged from theirs. His sympathy extended along with his hand towards Agent Anderson. "Chris, really. Thanks."

She smiled sadly and shook his hand firmly. She did the same to Jack as he offered his wordless look of gratitude, then offered Teal'c a polite return nod. "This isn't the last you'll see of me, guys. I want to know what you find out about Sam. You tell the generals that – classified or not – I need to know how she is. Can you do that for me?"

"Absolutely," promised O'Neill.

"Indeed," Teal'c agreed as she closed the door behind her, asking the other driver to meet her in the hall after their team conferred.

The men observed a tiny moment of silence before Teal'c spoke up again. "AgentAnderson's offer may be a partial solution to the problem I envisioned."

Jonas cocked his head and asked, "what problem?"

"I believe that we must find assistance within the organization we seek to compel. The NIDmust give up the rogueunits responsible for MajorCarter's abduction," and here the unholy gleam of a 'Jaffa revenge thing' lit Teal'c's eyes, "and return her to us. For that we must have a plan."

"Yeee-ahhhh," Jack drawled, "and how do we plan to do that other than busting in, guns blazing?" He caught Jonas' alarmed look and amended it to, "Okay, fine. _Metaphorical_ guns blazing."

Teal'c's silent raised eyebrow made all the comment he needed. Jonas looked from one team member to the other and slowly began to nod.

"Since the NID brass is so grateful to Major Carter for her help breaking up 'The Committee', this kidnapping has to be off the books. Who better to give up the bad guys than the NID agent they have going after them already?" Jonas sat back in satisfaction. Now this wasa plan he liked. "Plus, he owes us one."

"What makes you think you can trust this guy as far as you can throw him?" O'Neill demanded.

"I do not," Teal'c declared. "However, with superior Jaffa strength, I can throw Agent Barrett quite a distance." His ferocious smile reassured the agent's non-existent fans in the room not one bit.

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Author's Notes:

Hey, guys! Thank you so much for reviewing, those of you who did. I really love to know that people are still interested in this story – it helps me write faster! As for those of you who didn't… I'm probably a lot more like you than I should be. (I lurk, therefore I am.) Still, **please** review! I like to know what you like, what you hate, what you think will happen to Sam…

We should have all the evidence we need to find Sam in the SGC's possession within the next two chapters. I challenge every one of you (except technetium, who actually knows the answer) to review and let me know your theory. Of course, finding out what actually happened to her is the point of the whole story, so it'll take a while to get there. I hope it's not too obvious.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious thanks to technetium for the excellent beta reading and wondering how Anderson knew about the NID. You rock! You roll! You wield a wicked hand device! Ouch! ;-) Please be aware, dear readers, that I got all edit-y after technetium saw this last, so any weird construction or awkwardness is _my_ fault.

Also, muchos gracias to my editrix for her ruthless paring skills.


	13. Home Again, Home Again

From Here to Alternity: Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Disclaimer Haiku:

I do not own Stargate: SG-1

But I'd take it

If you offered.

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SGC, Level 21 – Evidence Processing Lab

VERY Early A.M./ Mid-All-nighter

Downtime Day 14

The quiet hum of the SGC's night cycle was broken by the clinks and whirrs of a hastily organized forensics laboratory several doors down from the infirmary. All the techs had been ordered to take a break once their last analyses of the night were collected in a growing database of evidence from the Grand Canyon crime scene. The only people still standing were two tiny, determined women and a cuddly bald scientist.

The younger of the women planted two capable fists in the small of her back and groaned softly as she stretched, arcing away from the microscope-laden lab bench. The strawberry blond weight of Lieutenant Jennifer Hailey's customary French braid dragged her neck out of its cramped position as she arched backward to touch the tops of her calves. She had doggedly insisted to Dr. Janet Fraiser that 'just a little more work' would allow her to completely process the blood-stained pebbles meticulously sorted from other chunks of gravel. That had been three hours ago, and she had just barely finished. She glanced around the nearly empty upside-down lab through the blood rushing to her head and contemplated her companions.

Janet Fraiser's presence was almost a given despite the unusually late hour. Sam Carter's best female friend had come out of a hasty conference with General Hammond and Jacob Carter 36 hours ago with the light of battle in her eyes and an understandable urge to wring the nearest NID neck. She had commandeered the largest lab on the infirmary level of the SGC to process the incoming evidence from the Grand Canyon and set up an adjoining lab as the video room. Within the first six hours she had the best audio-visual techs on base and Lt. Graham Simmons nearly finished running Sam's very own Zapruder film through a frame-by-frame analysis. They'd built a virtual 3D model of the crime scene to tag the exact location in which every piece of evidence was found. Other techs gathered chemicals, test tubes, computer terminals and the various minutiae of lab work to outfit the best damn CSI lab Cheyenne Mountain had ever seen.

And if anyone had retained the slightest thought that it was the _only_ CSI lab Cheyenne Mountain had ever seen, they kept it to themselves. After all, Colonel O'Neill was still in transit and no one else wanted to tangle with the frustrated, base-bound CMO. While the men of SG-1 climbed down canyons and wrestled the FBI, Janet got to console Cassie at home and twiddle her thumbs on base. There wasn't enough chocolate in the galaxy to make _that_ situation pleasant for innocent bystanders.

Once she finally had a task, Major Doctor Fraiser had proceeded to command, coerce or cajole all unoccupied people on base to sign up for a specific evidentiary task. Her customary brisk efficiency (and access to large needles) had … _inspired_ the 'volunteers' in her new lab to sort the incoming evidence and begin preliminary tests in record time. Even after most of the techs gratefully quit for a few hours of sleep and a hot meal, Janet Fraiser stayed in the lab and worried over the tests she only trusted herself to perform. Or maybe she'd decided that she would keep working as long as there was anyone in her lab. Either way, Doc Fraiser had been in constant motion since the Generals had given her a part in the investigation. Hailey had to admit that she was impressed by the doctor's determination and stamina even if this _was_ the place you might expect to find the sleep-deprived CMO.

Dr. Bill Lee, the cuddly balding scientist who filled out the trio, was a much less likely person to have volunteered for the grinding tedium of cataloguing the hair and fibers left at the site of Samantha Carter's abduction. Despite a deep professional respect for Major Carter, Dr. Lee had been more than a little upset by her recent high-handed obsession with Colonel O'Neill's disappearance. He and his science team had done all they could for two weeks to figure out the Furling gate-arch before admitting defeat and packing up to return to the SGC. Major Carter had thrown a massive temper tantrum and demanded that he stay until Colonel O'Neill was found despite the scientists' conclusion that a lifetime of study might not yield the Colonel's location. Dr. Lee had won that particular pissing contest and no one would have blamed him if he had continued his own research rather than volunteering to be a lowly lab tech in an effort to locate the Major. Of course, that didn't take into account Sam's abject and heartfelt apology or Dr. Lee's years of experience with close-knit SG teams.

Both the provisionally assigned civilian scientist and Lt. Hailey, part of SG-7's reconstituted scientific team, had come back through the 'gate on individual errands from Maybourne's Moon and the Furling Planet. It had taken no more than their walk from the abnormally hushed 'gate room to the somber infirmary for them to stop talking about correlations between the Furling artifact and their various specialties and realize that something was very wrong. Once they found out that Major Carter was missing they had immediately insisted on joining the lab effort, no matter how elementary the tasks might be. Which led them directly here.

Hailey sighed and glanced at the communal coffee pot; Dr. Fraiser had finished the last of it a few minutes ago. The lieutenant had six or seven blood samples to retest before she could conclusively report the odd results on a few of the bloody rocks. She needed to sterilize a new workspace and break out brand new bottles of reagent, fresh swabs, all new gloves… the very thought was aggravating. Or just exhausting. Either one required fresh, unadulterated coffee.

She straightened back up and wandered over to Dr. Lee's hunched form. "I'm officially caffeine deprived. I think I'm gonna raid the commissary for donuts and fresh coffee." His noncommittal grunt led her to use her best 'juicy gossip' whisper. "I heard there might be chocolate chip muffins for early birds this morning."

Bill Lee looked up, but not far up, and frowned. Lt. Hailey returned his serious look with a significant one and then nodded her head slightly towards Janet Fraiser's stiff back. He followed her oblique signal and his eyes widened. "It might be enough of a break to keep us fresh. When are the muffins going to be done? SG-6'll come in before dawn for those if they're on base."

"Not for a few hours," Hailey sighed as she led Dr. Lee to the door. "Still, it can't hurt to check. Dr. Fraiser, can we get you anything?"

Janet's mumbled negative response wafted in the scientists' footsteps as they closed the lab door. Dr. Lee paused to look over his shoulder, but Hailey's hand on his arm urged him silently along. They only got a few feet down the passageway in silence.

"Do you think it'll work?"

"I'm not sure, but he seemed pretty confident. It's obvious she needs it, and turn about is fair play."

"I notice you didn't say that where she could hear you."

"Hey! You're just lucky I included you in my alibi."

The swoosh of the elevator door cut off any reply.

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Major Janet Fraiser, MD let out a sigh of biblical proportions and let her head rest briefly on the lab bench in front of her. If her mama had ever said there'd be days like _this_ she might have stayed home and married the good ole boy next door rather than cram her brain full of medicine and military procedure. Far too early the previous morning the remnants of SG-1 had arrived on base with a mountain of evidence she and her technical staff had pounced on with nearly frenzied fervor. After thanking the CSI gods that she finally had some way to help, Janet had set her staff to sorting the evidence bags while she inspected the returning team. It had been less than friendly on certain people's parts.

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SGC Infirmary

Downtime Day 13

Early morning – approximately 20 hours ago

"…And don't _drop_ anything!" The last of the volunteer lab techs shot a glance Doctor Fraiser's way as he heaved the last sealed plastic box onto a dolly and joined the parade of technicians moving the evidence to its new home. For all that Doc Fraiser had worked like a trooper to get the lab set up, raising her voice to harangue the troops wasn't her style. Which was probably why the querulous voice belonged to a grumpy colonel in civvies rather than the white-coated woman clutching a clipboard and holding a silent eyebrow conversation with the big Jaffa between them.

As the last of his precious cargo disappeared down the hall, Colonel Jack O'Neill sagged like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Janet Fraiser fought her instinct to pounce while the irascible man was vulnerable… for about three-hundredths of a second. Her eyes flicked from the exhausted Kelownan's worried frown to the symbiote-enhanced Jaffa's disapproving expression and then she swooped into action.

"Here, Colonel. I want to give you guys a brief check-up while the lab sorts the evidence. Let's start with you." Janet gave O'Neill a tiny push backwards onto the waiting exam bed, hoping that he'd be too tired to resist her brisk gentleness. She could already see the fatigue that would give her a tiny advantage over the colonel. Theoretically. Maybe.

"Huhn? We don't need check-ups, Doc! We were only in Arizona, not off-world. Gimme a break."

"Nevertheless, colonel, the three of you may have come into contact with an unknown sedative while transporting the evidence. The chemical used on Major Carter had to be powerful and capable of aerosol transmission, and we don't know how persistent the effects are. I need to make sure you aren't showing any symptoms of exposure." She held a warding hand palm out as he started to argue again, "if only to insure the health and safety of my lab assistants." Janet knew the colonel would give in if she pushed that particular button.

Jack harrumphed. There were probably holes in her logic the size of that damned canyon, but he couldn't put his finger on them right now. On them? In them? Through them? He had a sudden mental image of putting his head through a giant, melting piece of Swiss cheese as it pulled apart like taffy. Maybe the doc had a point just this once. Either that or Teal'c had spiked his coffee with the Blood of Sokar.

Doc Fraiser's frown started when she took his blood pressure. Then it deepened as she checked his pulse, pinched… waitaminute. _Pinched_ his skin? What was that about? And, of course, the ol' mini-flashlight-in-the-eyes trick. A classic. By now her eyebrows were drawn down almost to her pursed lips. Crap. That was a bed-rest look if he ever saw one.

Janet sighed. Even if his electrolytes were perfectly balanced and all signs of his fatigue vanished in the next two minutes, which would take a medical miracle, the CO of SG-1 needed to be put on strict bed rest with a sucrose and saline I.V. for at least 24 hours. And getting him back down here would take another miracle or the surreptitious application of strong arm tactics. Janet made a quick decision.

"Alright, Colonel, Teal'c. You're provisionally released to debrief to General Hammond. I'll need to check you again when you're finished, but you can head down to the conference room now." Janet watched as the Jaffa tried to keep pace with his rapidly escaping teammate.

She turned back to the Kelownan gazing forlornly after his teammates and did a quick examination. Although it was more pro forma than anything, she did want to make sure the younger man wasn't suffering from the same dehydration and fatigue the Colonel displayed.

"Alright, Jonas," she said as she stepped back to let him rise from the infirmary bed. "You seem fine. Now, I need you and Teal'c to keep Colonel O'Neill close after the briefing. I'm going to need to run some tests on him and then probably chain him to a bed, but I can't treat him if I can't find him. I know you all need to report A.S.A.P., but make sure you stay with him. And get Teal'c in on the plan," she added.

Jonas agreed as Janet disinfected her instruments and let him pass. It wouldn't be long before the aliens would need to begin Operation Drag-O'Neill-Kicking-and-Screaming-Back-to-the-Infirmary. She warned her nurses and prepared a few "SG-1 Specials" before striding over to her new lab.

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Of course, it hadn't taken a psychic – or a Chief Medical Officer – to predict the movements of SG-1 for the next few hours. They'd finished meeting with Hammond, reluctantly reported back to the infirmary, and sat ringside as Janet Fraiser forced Jack O'Neill to lay down and let her pump him full of caloric fluids. Jonas, ever amenable to securing food, went to the commissary and brought back lunch for himself and Teal'c. Janet tried to get the Colonel to eat as well, but retreated to her office after a stern 'doctor's orders' warning provoked an unusually sarcastic response. She was already busy, impatient and worried and knew O'Neill could put a spark to her tightly-controlled temper.

Everyone who missed Sam was on the ragged edge these days and Janet stepped back before her own deep desire to be in the lab – finally _working_ rather than waiting – could push her into an argument for which she had neither the time nor the energy. Moments like this she missed Daniel's remarkable ability to distract his best friend and teammate. And Sam's staunch support. Janet rubbed her hands over her face and swallowed an aspirin before she went out to do battle with the Colonel. Again. She left him reluctantly eating under the watchful eyes of his teammates and her nurses.

When Janet caught her recalcitrant patient pacing outside the lab the first time, she scolded him back to bed and ordered him to _rest_ if he couldn't sleep and not to leave his bed without a written release in _her_ handwriting. Apparently Jonas had been subverted and convinced to distract the nurses while O'Neill sneaked out. Janet threatened to pull Teal'c from his kel'no'reem to sit on Jack if necessary. Her lab assistants hadn't even set up a proper betting pool on how long it would take the wily colonel to sneak back over before he peeked in the lab door again and tried to hurry their work along.

Still, Doctor Fraiser sympathized with his impatience. She was just as eager for answers as they were, but at least she _finally_ had some control over the pace of revelation. If she were on SG-1, she'd no doubt be doing the same thing. So she'd mentally allotted each member of SG-1 a 'get out of Janet's wrath free' card good for one calm explanation and a friendly send off to anywhere else. They'd all been used up within two hours.

After five more "progress reports" (or escapes, depending on your point of view), Janet gave in to her first inclination and loaded Colonel O'Neill's I.V. with an "SG-1 Special". One of her more pharmaceutically inclined nurses had brought the colorless, odorless, generally mild and side-effect-free sedatives to Doctor Fraiser's attention. She'd requisitioned a truckload for tranquilizing her patients and/or their team members when they were infirmary-bound after tough missions. The liquid sedatives went just as well in a cup of coffee as an I.V. line. To make sure the colonel didn't foil her plan by crimping the tube and following her to the lab, she glared at him from the foot of his bed until he fell into an uneasy slumber.

Jonas had been the next exhausted visitor to try her patience, and he looked almost as bad as his C.O., so she sentenced him to colonel-watching duty and sent an orderly with him to set up a semi-comfortable chair next to O'Neill's bed. Of course, the orderly had slipped the Kelownan some 'special' coffee that had him snoring in a truly impressive vibrato within fifteen minutes.

Once those two were down, Teal'c made his fourth visit of the night to inquire if DoctorFraiser or her technicians needed any assistance. Janet clung to patience with both hands and calculated how incredibly large a dose it would take to overcome Teal'c's symbiote and his naqahdah-laced blood. There was no way she could slip it to him unawares, and the very existence of her 'special' drinks was a tightly guarded secret between the nurses and the base C.O.

Since the Jaffa was not only immune to most sedatives but bigger and meaner than the little doctor, she decided to employ subtlety. One new lab technician was an eager student of all forms of meditation. With a coyly worded query about his teaching skills, Janet had sent Teal'c off with his charge and a request to kel'no'reem for as long as possible. To make sure the airman got a comprehensive meditation lesson, of course. He'd seen through her ruse but allowed himself to be led back to his quarters with passable good humor. Or maybe that look was the preparation for revenge – with the Jaffa it was incredibly hard to tell. Her last few hours had been broken only by lab accidents and a steady trickle of departing 'volunteers'.

Janet had finally gotten most of the crucial tests done and was about to do a face plant into her own table if she didn't get some rest soon. She decided to stay at work as long as her companions did… or would as soon as they got back from their coffee break. Still, Dr. Lee and Lt. Hailey were two of the most reliable scientists in the SGC. Surely if she just closed her weighted eyes for a little… bit… she… could…. just….. take…….a………

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When Jennifer Hailey returned to the lab ten minutes later, she and Dr. Lee quietly phoned the waiting Jaffa and let him know that Doctor Fraiser was ready to be hauled off to her quarters. Long hours at the microscope do tend to take a lot out of people, of course. But there may have been a reason neither Lt. Hailey nor Dr. Lee had sampled the last pot of lab coffee. The SGC's science geeks could be obsessively single-minded in following up a theory, but they weren't totally unaware of the world around them. Besides, the simple tests could be done by any lab tech. Dr. Fraiser would be most helpful analyzing the full spectrum of results before reporting to General Hammond tomorrow. After a full night's sleep.

As Teal'c picked up the tiny, tired doctor he gave both of his partners in silence a stern, assessing look. Dr. Lee voluntarily informed the large alien that he would be finished within half an hour. Lt. Hailey, by far the smallest person still standing, just stared right back up at the Jaffa and said she'd be done when she had this anomaly figured out.

The patented Jaffa Death Glare seemed to have no effect on Sam's stubborn mini-me, but Teal'c did warn her that he would be back soon to 'check her progress'. Hailey gave him a positively Teal'cian nod in return and went back to her bloody pebbles. Unless the reagents had gone stale, she had a major mystery on her hands. Or a very unsettling discovery. Either way she needed to finish before her mind could slow enough to sleep.

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Author's Note: ACK! It's been soooo long since I updated! I hope someone still remembers this story – thanks for hanging in there. RL has since bitten me, my beta AND my editrix in the butt so this installment was far too long in coming. Good News – I have the next chapter already written. Bad News: I'm not going to post it until I have the one after that started and it's stubbornly refusing to be written. I promise to try EXTREMELY hard not to leave you all hanging this long again. Never fear, this story will continue – I may be a long time posting, but I won't abandon it.

As always, humongous thanks to my beta, technetium, and my editrix – you've made every version of this chapter immeasurably better and I couldn't do it without you two. And starting this chapter, I have another beta to pinch hit when RL gangs up on the rest of my awesome team – yay PKtechgirl!

Next Chapter: NID vs. SGC on Level 28 AND a new twist from the evidence.


	14. Wakey, Wakey

From Here to Alternity: Interlude

Disclaimer: I own no part of Stargate, but I have full and complete possession of the crackheaded ideas that form this plot.

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"This is not the best course of action. I fear that the strength of her recollection will override our safety protocols." The woman speaking in such a cold voice leaned forward to make her point to her two colleagues. "We have risked much to procure the subject and she has enormous value given the scarcity of replacements. We cannot hope to collect another now that the base is in such uproar. If she remembers the procedures performed upon her thus far, we may never be able to gain her conscious cooperation for the next phase of retrieval. And the rest of our experiment relies upon retrieval."

"If she remains sedated much longer, she may suffer permanent brain damage. That would doom my research before it has even begun." The next voice was androgynous and dry, as if the fruitless end of years of research was unimportant.

"I believe the cells extracted from her cerebrospinal fluid last week should suffice to test the transfer mechanism. Since the cellular replication has begun, my need for the subject is minimal. At least until the testing phase." The voice of the last person at the table was as high and sweet as a young princess's.

The second voice took on a tone of command. "Whether or not it is a wise idea, the sleeper must awaken. As you said, the possibility of replacement should this subject be damaged is slim to none. Your surmise is correct - if we proceed with the operative in place, we may lose this opportunity. However, if the subject's brain fails, we _will_ lose all further possibility of research. Let us proceed."

A silent conversation ensued between the other scientists at the table before both gave nods – one reluctant, one eager. The androgynous speaker touched a comlink and ordered the operative to proceed as all three leaned into the security display to watch the crucial next few moments.

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Major Samantha Carter, USAF, SGC, SG-1 2IC, PhD, H2HC LVL 3 ADV and USAF ACAD VIP, was pretty sure she'd woken into yet another dream. She could feel all her limbs attached and even move them now – hallelujah – but the fog at the edges of her vision lingered. The cotton-stuffed condition of her mind reminded her of post-mission recoveries on Janet's best pain meds. It wasn't that she didn't know what she was doing or where she was, it was more that she didn't care. She was warm, swaddled in soft infirmary blankets and deliciously content. Her subconscious had done some scary things with her dreams over the years - not that she could blame it with SG-1's toughest missions for nightmare fodder - and she was glad to feel more like herself.

In her previous mid-sleep vision, she'd been just barely conscious, watching the high blue sky of the desert fade into strange metal or concrete ceilings and a flash that put her under again. None of her limbs had moved like she wanted and the terror of immobility coupled with the desperate trapped sensation she couldn't quite shake were enough to give her the shivers. No one had been able to see her or hear her except her captor, no matter how she tried to scream or thrash herself out of his grasp. Most of the ex-SGC scientists who'd transferred to Area 51, as well as a few of the NID guys she knew, had been all around her looking for something, but she couldn't tell what. They'd been talking about infrared sensors and heat signatures and shaped temperature anomalies, but she couldn't catch their attention.

It had been a nasty, if vaguely familiar, nightmare. Jolinar ghosted through her mind at the oddest moments, especially when she was exhausted or frustrated. Helpless captivity was no one's favorite dream, particularly when it was based on an actual memory. Sam dragged a leaden hand towards her equally unresponsive face and rubbed at her heavy eyes. If she were still dreaming, couldn't she at least have palm trees and white sand beaches? Cabana boys carrying fruity drinks out to her raft in the surf? A matriarchal Amazon planet full of advanced technology and valuable natural resources where she fit in like she'd been born there? How about a vintage Harley to rebuild from scratch? Please? Pretty please?

Apparently when you spent the vast majority of your time deep under a mountain, your subconscious took vacations to beautiful, scenic… isolation rooms? She blinked awkwardly at the ceiling and confirmed the information of her other four senses. If it sounded like a large echoing room and tasted like recycled air overlaid with the faint scent of disinfectant and electronics, it was probably one of Janet's subdomains on Level 21. Touch gave her a soft but firm mattress and a set of patient pajamas that were orders of magnitude less embarrassing than Janet's post-op paper gowns, but still nothing she'd be tempted to wear while walking the SGC's corridors. She closed her eyes again.

Sam could've sworn the last thing she remembered was standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon watching the sunset. The scenery had been wild and glorious, as usual, and she'd felt a strangely compelling freedom from the concerns of her daily life-is-work-is-life. Three days of open road with the windows down and her favorite music blaring had made an immense difference in her outlook.

She'd been so tightly wound for so long that relaxation had been almost painful the first day on the road. She'd kept twitching her hand over to her cell phone and snatching it back like she'd been scalded. She didn't need to call anyone, or so she'd muttered to herself between mile markers. Everything on base was fine, and if not they knew how to contact her. The gate-arch remote control was safely locked away awaiting further study before being passed to Area 51. Her projects were fine. Her lab was fine. Her team was fine.

Colonel Jack(ass) O'Neill was once again safe at home due to her intense unheralded efforts and was now subject to Janet's less than tender mercies. That thought had curved her tensely held lips into a properly wicked grin somewhere near Albuquerque. She supposed she shouldn't have talked so openly to Jan that last night before she left the Springs, but a few margaritas into an impromptu girl's night the overstressed dam had burst. She couldn't remember what exactly she'd said, but she recalled a declaration of over-him-ness that Janet could no doubt cite chapter and verse. It was that familiar. She winced at the inevitable recitation to come. When it came to others' embarrassment, Major Doctor Fraiser had a near photographic memory. Sam decided to pretend she had no memory of that particular evening.

At least her remaining best friend was discreet. Janet had been aware of Sam and Jack's bittersweet non-relationship at least semi-officially since the za'tarc incident that nearly wrecked their careers, but truly for much longer as Sam's feminine voice of reason. They all knew by now that this rift would eventually heal into a constant interpersonal alertness and careful professional demeanor between 2IC and CO, but never really resolve into anything… or nothing. It was just the way the Colonel and the Major worked. But the tiny divorced doctor had urged her more than once to 'fish or cut bait', among similar, more earthy metaphors.

And if this was her dream, why couldn't she think about something pleasant, like Daniel safe and sound where he belonged? The other possibility, that she was actually awake, was less comforting than it might have seemed. If this were real, she'd have to figure out the source of her emotional detachment and that odd fog, not to mention where she was and why and how and what part was injured this time.

Sam sighed quietly. Disorientation upon awakening usually meant a head injury, and she could just see her self-appointed guardian's reproving expression already. Teal'c's eyebrows would rise almost to the bottom curve of his gold tattoo as he'd ask a series of polite questions that just happened to point out the foolishness of whatever action led to her injury. But maybe he'd give in and tell her what was wrong first.

Sam opened her eyes.

The man in the white coat making notes at the foot of her bed was the first problem. Tall, dark and tanned, he looked more like a surfer than a doctor and he couldn't be more than five years older than Sam. The only thing that clued her in to his identity was the traditional white lab coat with a stethoscope peeking out of the pocket. As he frowned over her chart, Sam cast her loopy gaze over the rest of the room. That was the second problem.

This wasn't the SGC. It wasn't even necessarily a military hospital. The room was too large and airy to be part of the Academy Hospital and too colorful to be the infirmary. But, and she craned her neck discreetly to be sure, it probably wasn't Colorado Springs General as there were no views of the mountains in the background. Actually, there were _no_ views in the background – the room seemed to have no windows at all. A quick glance at the door verified that there was no way to open it from inside, except that it was currently propped open.

She sensed motion near her toes and closed her eyes to slits, her view partially obstructed by her eyelashes. No, this guy wasn't at all familiar. Nor was he military, if she had to guess. His longish hair and slight slouch would give any proper basic training instructor fits. But he seemed to know what he was doing as he examined her I.V. line and made another note in her chart. He moved midway down the bed and turned his back to her as he checked a bank of monitors she couldn't study without admitting to consciousness. A glance to the other side of the bed showed a visitor's chair and assorted furniture, but nothing that helped her know where she was or what was going on. Crap.

Sam gradually became aware of a desert-worthy dryness growing in her mouth as the fog across her perceptions faded. Now the question became not where she was, but could she trust any food, water or information she got from this stranger. Probably not. Best to stay still and conserve her resources until he left, hopefully not closing the door behind him. But that became moot as he went to chair-and-table side of her bed and grasped her wrist with long, cool fingers. He frowned as he took her pulse and shifted his fingers slightly and Sam knew the rapid beating of her heart would put the lie to her stillness. She tried to moisten her arid throat and ask who, what, when, where, etc. The croak that actually made it past her lips had the doctor leaning over and gazing intently into her eyes.

Then he smiled. "Sam! I'm so glad you're finally up. You really had us worried for a while there." His bright white teeth and obvious happiness reassured her only a little. After all, lots of untrustworthy people could fake pleasantness – including Adrian Conrad's staff of mad kidnapping scientists.

"Wh-" Her cough stabbed through her throat like a stiletto. "Whe-" She couldn't make any more sounds, but her face must have told him what she needed.

"What? Oh, sorry! Here." The bed began to rise under her shoulder blades as he prepared her to take the straw between her lips. Blessed cool moisture trickled down her throat. "Hey, hey, wait. Don't take too much yet. Here, keep that down for the rest of the conversation and I'll give you more." He met her wide blue eyes. "Yeah, well, dirty looks have no effect on me, even if we _were_ all biting our nails waiting for you to come out of it. How do you feel?"

That was a loaded question. Sam swallowed and cleared her throat experimentally. "Wh… Where am I? Who are you? Wh- " A fierce bout of coughing cut her off and brought the stiletto sensation to the back of her throat again.

The man's face clouded in uncertainty before he adopted a very 'Janet' tone and said, "Funny, Sam. Cute, very cute. But I'm not gonna fall for that."

She beckoned for more water and he indulged her with a playful scowl. Sam coated her throat in moisture and tried again. "This isn't a joke. And it's not cute, either. Where _am_ I, who are _you_, and _what_ am I doing here?"

His brows drew down as he assessed her expression. Apparently convinced, he slowly pursed his lips and made a 'concentration' face. "You really don't recognize me?" At her slowly shaking head, he looked even more concerned and reached for her pulse again. "Okay, we're gonna do this methodically. Let me take your pulse and check your lungs and pupils, tell me what your last clear memory is and we'll go from there."

Sam lay still as she watched him count her heartbeats and jot notations on her chart again. He certainly didn't act like someone who wanted to dissect her or pump her for information about her very classified job. Still, she'd been through this with both Hathor's SGC mock-up and Adrian Conrad's Earth-bound goons. She'd just have to be careful about what she said and keep her eyes and ears open. If he wasn't for real, she'd know before long. She leaned forward and let him listen to the front and back of her chest before gesturing for the water and keeping it when he would've put it aside again. Her possessive look was enough to have him sit in the visitor's chair and tell her to go on without trying to reclaim the cup.

Sam described her memory of sunset at the Grand Canyon in careful detail… and decided to ask this guy to the next poker night. His impassive expression was worse than Daniel's. "Okay, now it's your turn."

He scrutinized her face in turn and then looked up at the ceiling.

"Um, hello?" Sam's heart plummeted as he lowered his head with an exaggerated cheery expression.

"Well, Sam, the good news is that it's not as bad as it could be. You remember where you live?" She nodded and rattled off her address. "And where you work? And what you do there? How about your car, do you remember the make and model?"

Sam just nodded to the questions about the SGC and told him the details of her recent automotive purchase.

"Okay." He held his breath for a long moment. "You're not going to like this, but I think we'd better let you remember the recent past on your own. Now, listen! Here's the reason. You agreed to be part of a… Well, you… uh hmmm." He quickly came to some realization and answered her silently glared question.

"I'm trying not to give away any of the information we'll need to verify the extent of your cumulative memory loss." His face contorted through a series of editorial grimaces before he gave her a sharp nod. "Okay, this should work. Your short term memory seems to have been effected by some Alzheimer's research you agreed to be a part of. Now, that doesn't seem like something you'd agree to, I know, but your sister-in-law just found out that both her parents have the disease and she and her siblings and all their kids are candidates for early onset. Which includes your… brother's family. You contacted your father to see if his… ah, _special connections_ could find something to help. Um… hm."

He looked back up to the ceiling and pondered. "Okay, one of his colleagues had a theory about some of your _unusual experiences_ in the first years of your current employment and possible treatment options, but that research wouldn't be possible, ah, _nearby_ because of FDA regulations. So you and your immediate superior and his boss contacted some friendly, um, individuals who had recently vacated real estate to offer, uh, _outside_ of the United States. Unfortunately, that real estate is underground. The good news is that it's, ah, unknown to _local thugs_. So your doctor and some of her friends in the research community drew up a list of the people best equipped to meld new sources of… biological improvement with current neurological treatment.

"Now, I know what you're gonna say, but the issue of classified military… installations was made moot by the fact that the First Lady has made this disease her personal cause. The President was agreeable to using extraordinary measures to make progress on research because he didn't want to sleep on the First Couch with the First Dog for the rest of his term." A quicksilver grin fluttered across his expressive face as he met Sam's eyes. She kept her attention on him and any expression off of her face. He sobered and continued.

"So, we started working with you and a few of your father's associates last week. You haven't woken up since the last procedure. It's been a while and we were starting to be concerned. Your EEG was normal, but there were obviously complications. Now we just need to work together to find the extent of the memories you've temporarily misplaced. But I'll get into that in more detail once we redo some scans." The tall doctor closed his eyes and muttered a review of pertinent facts inaudibly for a minute before exclaiming. "Oh, right! And I'm Alex Jenkins, International Neurologist of Mystery. I thought you were joking when you asked who I was because I, um, lost a bet the other day and now I have to introduce myself that way for the next 67 hours. Thus the, y'know, 'funny/cute' reaction. Any questions? Ah, that I'm likely to answer?"

Sam wondered where to start.

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The silence in the secured room was fraught with tension as the three researchers watched their subject hammer the operative with questions. Where was her father? Which Tok'ra were included in the project? What exactly did she sign up for? Could they prove it? What did her CO and General Hammond say about it? How long would it take? After effects? Permanent memory loss or temporary inability to recall? Did Janet Fraiser sign off on all parts of this? How much had they learned so far? Who else was part of the project? How did they intend to restore her to normal when they finished?

Their operative, who actually _was_ a neurologist and memory specialist, stammered out responses or deflections according to the parameters they had agreed upon and the limits of his assumed persona. The subject was skeptical and dogged in her interrogation. Without even noticing, she revealed information they didn't already have, but the trio looked less than pleased as her questions continued.

The androgynous voice said what they were all thinking. "She does not believe him."

The sweet-and-innocent voice held a tinge of acid as it replied, "We would not need her if she were stupid. Of course she does not believe him. That would require trust and trust must be earned."

The cold voice sounded reluctant. "We may have to move on to the next phase using alternative methods of insuring cooperation. That may impact the integrity of the data. All this would be much easier if she just believed the scenario."

The androgynous voice again brought their discussion to a close. "Belief is not necessary. Cooperation is. Use the false documentation and increase security patrols. We must not cause preventable damage, but cannot allow her to escape."

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Author's Notes: Well, I didn't see this chapter coming!

I apologize for the delay in posting, but it took a LONG time for this chapter to feel right. And, oh, about the investigation? It's ongoing. I promise we'll eventually get all those pesky clues together, but I've given up on predicting when. ;-)

An ENORMOUS Thank You to technetium for help and inspiration on this and subsequent chapters. If it weren't for such excellent beta reading and reviews, I would have pulled my own hair out by now. I still may. (Grrr. Stupid, Distractable Muse.) I tinkered withthis installmentafter technetium sent it back – so blame me for the parts you don't like!

As always, Please Review! Tell me what you thought of this chapter and why it worked or didn't, please! Thanks!


	15. Paging Dudley DoRight

From Here to Alternity: Paging Dudley Do-Right

MAJOR Spoilers for "Smoke and Mirrors" from Season Six.

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Just for the heck of it - I don't own Stargate. At all.

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Downtime Day 14

Late Afternoon

Colorado Springs Airport

Agent Malcolm Barrett was _really_ pissed off. Not that one could tell by watching his impersonal expression and measured strides. One of the first rules of delousing the National Intelligence Directorate was 'never let them see you sweat', and he didn't. But if anyone caught the full weight of his gaze they'd have no problem seeing the frustration stewing just behind his eyes. He was going to find Major Samantha Carter if it was the last thing he did.

Actually, he reflected as he left the Colorado Springs airport, finding Sam Carter would have to be the _next_ to last thing he ever did, because as soon as he found her he was gonna kick her ass! The little part of his brain that kept him out of bar fights poked him in the ego until he relented slightly. Well, okay, actual ass-kicking might not happen; when they'd taken down the rotten core of the NID, he'd seen her handle herself with a lethal grace he knew better than to challenge. But he was certainly going to lecture her firmly, at length!

Agent Barrett exchanged a sharp nod with his military driver as he slid past the courteously held door and closed it himself in one swift motion. The absence of a salute was perfectly correct, but Barrett saw the young airman's eyes widening at that uncontrollably impatient door-slam before scurrying around to dump the NID agent's bags in the trunk. Barrett overheard the airman's brief report to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex before the young man slid into the driver's seat and pulled into the rush-hour traffic. The agent's subconscious absently noted the discreet surveillance the driver kept on the back seat and the cars behind them, but Barrett had been too busy to arrange a tail for this short drive and too agitated to consider that his enemies might have assigned one. Hell, let them wonder.

Agent Barrett kept a firm hand on his briefcase as he silently fumed, struggling all the while to curb his incipient scowl. This was all Major. Samantha. Carter's. Fault! She'd made friends with him, helped him take down the corrupters tainting his agency, and then refused to accept his solemn offer of a security detail. And then, _then_ she had had the absolute gall to get kidnapped! As if he hadn't warned her that the Committee's minions wouldn't give up even after the money men were indicted. As if he hadn't argued that her military training might not be enough to protect her unless she was willing to be alert _every single moment_ until the last Committee henchman was safely behind bars. As if he hadn't emailed her faithfully twice a week just to make sure she was okay ever since she left him in Washington with that damnable megawatt smile and a stinking goodbye hug!

Malcolm's eyes widened briefly as he heard his own internal monologue. Now he was officially losing his mind, and all his 80-hour work weeks and tense interrogations of former colleagues couldn't excuse a mental rant at his absent friend. Because as strange as it seemed, Sam was more than a convenient acquaintance. In between the depositions, debriefings and disassembly of the Committee's supply chain, NID Agent Malcolm Barrett and Major Samantha Carter, USAF had gone past the cordial cooperation of their sting operation to actually become… friends. It had taken the better part of two weeks to get the investigation wrapped up, the legal wrangling settled and all the evidence chains safely classified or released to the courts. At which point Sam's CO, Colonel O'Neill, had been officially released with an apology from the District Attorney's office moments after indictments were filed against the members of the Committee. Senator Kinsey had been medically cleared for a press conference not long after that, and Sam and her boss had returned to Colorado within the day.

Those hectic two weeks after the Committee bosses went down had cemented Sam and Malcolm's back-to-back stance against all the lawyers and bureaucrats who wanted to nitpick at the details of their impromptu sting operation. Both the major and the agent had been on the edge of making a career-ending comment more than once, but his dry wit and her subtly satirical matter-of-fact-ness had each saved the other. If all else had failed, they'd gotten take-out food at whatever ungodly hour they were finally released and raked their interrogators over the coals of Malcolm's living room fireplace. They'd argued strategy for the next day's interviews and co-ordinated exactly what they could and could not say to those without the 'need to know' about the Stargate program and the inner workings of the NID.

But it wasn't just an endless rehashing of their operation, however important those details became. They'd also made significant inroads into the connections between the Committee and Area 51 by combining her knowledge of the scientists and his of the money trail. Her technological creativity and his paranoia had come up with some revolutionary strategies for tracking and bringing down the bad guys. And somehow, over the course of those two weeks, they'd become friends. He'd teased her by assuring the dedicated officer that she was giving his department of workaholics an inferiority complex. She'd retaliated by inviting him to take a break and spar with her in the agency gym. Somehow the colonel's order to 'get a life' had made it into her NID file, which Malcolm let Sam read in exchange for a triple batch of her homemade chocolate chip cookies – baked once the case gave her time to commandeer his kitchen. They lamented having beloved jobs that kept them from having personal lives, with no mention of her CO or his gorgeous, whip-smart deputy and the NID's official policy on interoffice romance.

It had been… nice to have a friend with whom they could share the classified aspects of their jobs, and before she met the colonel for his official release, they'd promised to stay in touch. Sam's email on arrival in Colorado had been a masterfully subordinate rant about whatever Kinsey had said to her team leader to put him in the foul mood that dominated their flight back to the SGC. Malcolm had printed it and offered to have it framed. Her response was eminently unsuitable for the government servers that carried their correspondence. As time passed and he grew frustrated with the sheer massiveness of his quest, she'd reminded him of the many people who would benefit from a cleaner, gentler NID. He'd tried to be supportive when her team leader went missing and had told her to take the vacation time the general was offering once Colonel O'Neill returned home.

And now, in the middle of the vacation he'd pushed her to take, she'd been kidnapped by members of his own organization!

He closed his eyes in shame as the courtesy car neared Cheyenne Mountain. He could – and did – yell at Sam all he wanted within the privacy of his own mind and call her seven different kinds of idiot for not taking his offer of security backup. But the nasty, practical part of his brain whispered irrepressibly into the silence of his thoughts. _Maybe she didn't take the security because she trusted you to take down the guys gunning for her._

He growled silently at the whisper he'd never been able to suppress. It could recede, as it did when he needed to lie, cheat, steal or stonewall on the job, but part of the reason the President had chosen Malcolm Barrett as his hatchet man in the NID was the agent's bedrock honesty. Even Sam had seen it, according to her (supposedly secret) mission report, when she forced him to face the uncomfortable truth that the 'assassin' they were tracking was NID. Malcolm had grunted, turned away, and then taken the fingerprints from the rifle to run through his computer system even when he had every reason to accept the evidence of Colonel O'Neill's guilt.

Of course, that stubborn sense of honor hadn't meant that he'd immediately confessed all his secrets to her. As he'd told her, sometimes you had to cross an ethical line to stay in the game – the trick was knowing when to step back. Even now he had a plan by which his crusade to cleanse the NID could benefit from her kidnapping. Another reason the President had chosen Barrett was his shrewd dispassion; Malcolm had had no part in Sam's abduction, but once it happened he was willing to use his search for her to flesh out the illicit connections between the rogue cell responsible and his organization. He refused to consider whether Sam would have approved or not; the trick was to call it 'compromise' instead of 'being torn apart at the seams.'

_She knew you had her back_, the voice continued relentlessly. He sighed and let the rest of it wash over him. He was who he was and didn't have the luxury of undivided loyalties even in this. _She's a decorated officer. You know she didn't go down without a fight and you know your guys are responsible for abducting her. Maybe if you had been quicker to eliminate them, she wouldn't be missing right now._ He twitched in his seat and squeezed the handle of his briefcase, but otherwise allowed his conscience to lash him without a visible reaction. _You're getting mad so you don't have to be afraid for the one person you actually like at the SGC._

Malcolm sighed as the car reached the first checkpoint and opened his eyes. The hell of being an honorable man was that you couldn't lie forever when it mattered, not even to yourself.

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Downtime Day 14

Late Afternoon

Cheyenne Mountain Levels 11-28

Agent Barrett walked briskly down the sterile hall to the last SGC security checkpoint within the mountain. His escort, a young, blond linebacker of a lieutenant, had retrieved him from the car and whisked him through regular NORAD security and the first line of the SGC's defenses, then ushered him through the first eleven floors of the complex. Barrett had been photographed, fingerprinted, palm-scanned and tagged with a visitor's badge before the first patdown and briefcase inspection. Luckily, his escort, Lt. Alex Jablon, was experienced in the ways of interagency rivalries and had quickly quashed the mention of a strip search even though the security officer had mumbled something about 'O'Neill's orders'. Barrett had had a sudden vision of descending like Dante through an Inferno peopled with BDU-wearing tormentors. Was it just him or had it gotten colder the closer he got to the bottom?

Barrett banished all thought of temperature and watched absently as the airman swiped his access card through the elevator's security scanner, mentally reviewing the men he was here to meet. He'HHHhe'd d never met Sam's General, but from the files he had read on the SGC… O'Neill was far more likely to be at the center of the chill he felt as he was escorted past base personnel. The scientists and soldiers peopling the halls had glanced at his suit and tie and either gave him a cool nod or ignored him completely. He remembered pre-treasonous Colonel Maybourne's estimation that Col. Jonathan J. 'Jack' O'Neill 'wouldn't piss on an NID agent on fire in front of him'. Not that Jonas Quinn or Teal'c were likely to be pushovers; from Sam's stories and his own research Barrett knew each member of SG-1 was uniquely skilled and tempered by experience, even the newest addition. But O'Neill seemed most likely to annihilate Barrett first and ask questions a few years from now. Cooperation would be… a challenge.

Of course, the first challenge would be convincing the base CO that the President knew what he was doing in putting Barrett on the investigation. Malcolm Barrett took a deep breath and firmed up his professional expression as the lieutenant walked him out of the elevator on Level 28. Without really registering the bland gray décor, Barrett noted the right turn just past the Air Force seal and a left after some generic posters of planes in flight. Not that he expected to have to make a run for it, exactly, but he did note the access card slot on the outside of the briefing room door. As the lieutenant settled him at a large conference table and cordially deserted the NID agent to the SGC's tender mercies, Agent Barrett idly recalled his escape and evade training in defeating locks just like that one.

Barrett folded his hands genteelly on the synthetic portion of the wood-and-black-composite table and calmly surveyed his new surroundings. His seat was at the right hand of the 'head' of the table closest to the general's office. Vague moving shapes visible behind the odd ringed markings on the office window indicated that someone was aware of the agent's arrival despite the stillness of the briefing room. Barrett glanced at the 'foot' of the table and took in the open, circular staircase leading down to the control room and up to a storage area if his study of the SGC's schematics was correct. The blank video screen mounted on the wall opposite the general's office might bear the contents of his briefcase by the end of the day, but only if they were very, very unlucky. Behind him, Barrett knew there were multiple LCDs displaying life forms and chemicals used in the morning's briefings. He had no idea what they were and no interest in finding out. His attention was fixed on the uncovered window across from him.

The view from this angle was of a vast gray chamber constructed of the concrete that dominated the entire installation. He couldn't see the metal ring at the heart of the base or the accompanying ramp and stabilizers. It was a rare visitor to the SGC who could sit in Malcolm's position without at least subconsciously straining for a better view of the best kept secret of the past decade. Agent Malcolm Barrett was one of them.

He smiled faintly as he remembered Sam's squawk of indignation when they'd discussed his blasé response.

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Several days post-"Smoke and Mirrors"

Washington, D.C. – Northern Virginia Suburbs

"Seriously, Malcolm, you've _got_ to be kidding me!" Sam's wide eyes and horrified expression wouldn't have looked out of place if they were discussing serial killers or natural disasters or kitten soufflé. Her chopsticks were suspended over the steaming white waxed cardboard of the Chinese take out container in mid-pounce.

Agent Barrett, his black tie rakishly loosened over the unbuttoned collar of his trademark white shirt, calmly snaked his bare forearm into Sam's personal space and ruthlessly speared the last steamed pork dumpling. The cuffs of his dress shirt were haphazardly rolled nearly to his elbow, which was a good thing as his uniformed companion broke her stillness in time to snatch the soy vinegar dipping sauce out of his reach. The dark liquid sloshed onto his coffee table as he gave her the evil eye and snatched up a pile of napkins from the floor between them.

"Why?" he intoned with his usual lack of expression as he blotted the spill.

"Because no one, I mean, _nobody_ can pass up their first chance to gawk at the Stargate. Senators, scientists, military personnel – everybody who goes into the conference room for the first time steps up to see the 'gate room first thing." She carefully put down the hostage condiment before stabbing an errant piece of General Tso's chicken and eating it. Her friend raised his eyebrows, inspiring her to wave her now-clean utensils in a broad gesture of emphasis. As Barrett opened his mouth to object, she qualified, "As long as they know what they're looking for."

He humphed in discontent and gently snagged the sauce back. They were distressingly low on napkins and his beige carpet was practically begging for a stain or three. "I can imagine that most people are eager to see it, and I grant that it's the main attraction of the SGC. But at least some people must put it in its proper perspective."

Sam snorted and gathered a clump of white rice from another container, certain that he was joking. But his deadpan gaze lacked the lively twinkle she had come to identify as the surefire signal of his sense of humor. It was hard to tell sometimes if Agent Malcolm Barrett was joking or not, as the man possessed the driest wit imaginable and a formidable poker face. But they'd been colleagues and friends for ten days now and Major Samantha Carter was as observant as one would expect of a scientist of her caliber.

"Proper. Perspective. And what would that perspective be, Agent Barrett?" Her challenge was somewhere between amused and affronted. The Stargate was the focus of Sam's all-consuming professional life, granted, but it was also an amazing tool for exploration and exchange and a scientific phenomenon by anyone's standards. "It's the most incredible discovery of the last century, scientifically as well as archaeologically! It allows us to explore worlds we'd never even contemplate without it. It's linked us to people and cultures beyond our wildest imagination. It's… It's… There's not another discovery or advancement I can even compare it to!"

"And yet, it hasn't changed the lives of the average citizen materially even in the country which runs the only functioning Stargate program on this planet." Malcolm swallowed a splash of jasmine tea as he saw the light of battle enter Sam's eyes. This would require some fast talking, and he couldn't allow a dry mouth to rob him of even a single point he wanted to make. "I know, I know, it's kept us all from being slaves to the Goa'uld. But we wouldn't even be in danger of invasion in the first place if the 'gate had never been used. And _no_, I'm not saying that you shouldn't have opened it or haven't done wonderful things with it," he assured her as her grip on her chopsticks shifted subconsciously from eating mode to weapon readiness. "And I'm not like those Kinsey-fied idiots who want to shut it down. But think about it, Sam. What has the 'gate done for John Q. Public lately? You've discovered naqahdah reactors, but his car still runs on gas. You've made contact with the Tok'ra and the Asgard, but he still doesn't know more about little gray men than the average X-Files fan. You have healing devices and staff weapons, but he still goes to the emergency room after his neighbor shoots him with a bullet-firing handgun. You know the chemical composition of worlds of water where that liquid is actually a concentration of sentient microorganisms, but the coral reefs which are the basic building block of our oceans' ecosystems will still be –"

"- dead by 2075. You read me the article." Sam interrupted, chewing over his argument as thoroughly as the last of the snow pea pods. "You can't possibly mean that because the discoveries we've made through the 'gate aren't in general circulation already that the 'gate is… meaningless. Right? I mean, it took years for technology developed for the space program to filter down to the American public, but it's still one of the most common sources for technological advances available in people's daily lives, at least peripherally. For goodness' sake, the Internet does _how_ much business every year? That whole idea started off as a DARPA-developed communications tool."

"No, not meaningless. Just… the Stargate is impressive and unique and I'm sure that we'll all appreciate it someday," he admitted in a stolid monotone, "but it's still just one secret program. And one day we'll all marvel that all these discoveries, all this technology came from the rest of the universe and we never knew it was out there. But it's…" he shrugged helplessly and snagged the last bite of orange beef. "There are more amazing things on Earth than the Doorway to Heaven."

"Oh, yeah?" Sam demanded as she snapped open her fortune cookie. "Like what?"

"Like lots of things. Like… coral reefs and their endless renewal of the marine ecosystem. Like the disappearing rain forest and all the uncatalogued species and biomedical discoveries coming out of it. Like the thousands of things that had to go just right for sentient life to develop here, or any life for that matter." He could see that she wanted to argue, or at least explain the way the Stargate had contributed to each of his examples. So he took a breath and dug into deeper, more personal wonders. "Like… like the look on a man's face when he holds his child for the first time. Watching someone grow from that moment until they have the exact same experience. Traveling all over the world to find that no matter what their cultural trappings, people want and need the same things… the same sense of family, of permanence, despite the fact that we won't live for even a hundred years."

He sneaked a glance upwards, almost abashed at his unexpected sentimentality. Sam's mouth was hanging slightly open and her eyes were as wide as he'd ever seen them. "The… the fact that my parents have been married for nearly fifty years and neither one of them has killed the other yet," he finished with a crooked smile, deliberately lightening the tone of the discussion while his memory was flooded with examples. He could still see the awe in his brother-in-law's face the moment his long-awaited niece had touched down in scrub-clothed arms. Janie had seven ear piercings and a string of disreputable boyfriends to her credit by now, but not even the quickest intergalactic travel could top the wonder shining from Darryl's face at that moment. Malcolm sucked in a breath and looked back up through the meager shelter of his short brown bangs. "Seeing the Stargate's an amazing experience, I'm sure, but it's not the end-all and be-all of human experience. I have to think I'd keep it in the … proper perspective."

There was a long, not-quite-awkward pause as Sam studied her friend's abashed gray eyes. "I'll make you a deal," she offered firmly. "You come to the SGC and do whatever seems right to you when you enter the briefing room. I'll be there and you can prove to me what you think the proper perspective is. I'm not saying either one of us is right, but I want you let go for just a little bit and have whatever reaction seems most natural to you at that moment. Deal?" She wiped her well-used fingers on her last napkin and held her hand out to him.

Malcolm stared at her familiar face and weighed his options as she waited patiently. Ten days of developing their own rhythm let her know that he rarely leapt into anything without considering the ramifications, even a pseudo-bet like this. He wiped his own hand and shook hers firmly. "Deal," he confirmed.

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And here he was, sitting in front of the biggest secret on or under the face of the planet… and he refused to look. Not because he didn't want to, he admitted to himself, but because his desire to save the experience to share with his friend was greater than his curiosity. He sighed and looked down at his folded hands resting on the tabletop.

Lecturing. Firmly. At length.

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Author's Note: An Especially Enormous Thank You to my betas (betae?) technetium and PKgirl for being willing to weather the world's worst writer's block whining! Oh, yeah, and reading and improving my writing and keeping the faith, yadda. ;-)

An outsized happy dance for the people who reviewed the last chapter – this one is out primarily because you let me know you were still reading. Everyone - Please Read and Review! I love knowing what you loved/hated and especially that you're still there. Those of you lurking, sincere thanks for reading. Now type!

I know I've been gone for a while and people thought this fic was/would be abandoned, but I promise it isn't and won't be. I'll finish it… eventually. The spirit is willing but the pen is weak. Or slow. Whichever.

Happy Winter Holiday of Your Choice to Everyone!!!


	16. Spies Like Us?

From Here to Alternity: Spies Like… Us?

Disclaimer Haiku:

I do not own Stargate

But I did have a birthday

Gimme gimme

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Downtime Day 14

Late Afternoon

SGC Conference Room

Level 28

The noise of a softly cleared throat broke Malcolm Barrett's reverie. His face snapped up from contemplating his hands to see a portly officer with an unmistakable command presence lift expressive eyebrows into a vast forehead.

"Agent Barrett?" a Texas drawl inquired.

"General Hammond, sir?" Barrett responded as he came to his feet.

"I am," the base CO confirmed, taking Barrett's measure as they met each other's eyes and shook hands. Barrett noted that there was no welcome in the general's manner or speech, although Hammond didn't look precisely displeased. Or perhaps he had to know the man better to suss out his facial cues – Barrett knew first hand the virtue of a calm expression in a commander.

"General, I have a copy of the Presidential order authorizing my inclusion in the search for Major Carter if you'd like to see it." Barrett's gray eyes were level and unchallenging as he stood beside his reluctant host.

A long pause filled the room as the general and the agent each took in all the subconscious clues they were trained or naturally skilled enough to recognize. Malcolm thought the general looked like Santa Claus crossed with a bust of Caesar. The blue uniform held an able, if older, body under a face that looked like it could slip from neutral to stern to kind without ever looking fake. He felt the force of Hammond's charisma – it resembled a bracing backslap over a beer – and saw why Sam trusted her boss' boss implicitly. Hammond seemed to be a man worthy of the confidence that the Major had so firmly insisted that Barrett extend. Not many people as highly connected and powerful as the General could have an officer as intelligent and experienced as Sam Carter declare that if 'you trust me, you trust my team'. The NID's top agent just hoped he measured up as well in Hammond's assessment.

"Have a seat," the general invited briefly. Apparently Barrett had passed inspection, if only provisionally. As they sat, one at the head of the table and one to his right, Hammond continued, "I don't need to see a copy of your authorization, Agent Barrett, but I am… puzzled. Please explain to me why an NID agent should be allowed to help my command investigate the abduction of one of my officers by a member of that organization?" Hammond's tone was politeness itself, but Barrett could sense the menace seething underneath the quiet question.

"Sir, I'm not authorized to speak for the President. I know on the surface it seems an unusual choice, but- " Barrett saw Hammond frown past him to the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. When he followed the older man's gaze, there was no one there. "General?"

"Carry on, Agent Barrett," Hammond continued brusquely as he shifted his laser-like focus back to his guest.

Although Malcolm felt that he had the majority of the older man's attention, there was apparently some significance to the far corner that escaped him. Another brief glance to his right gave him no clue, so he continued. "Actually, sir, my initial request was that the SGC not be involved in the investigation at all." There was a sudden noise from the mysterious corner, but Hammond merely frowned. That calm reaction confirmed for Barrett that Major Davis had already given the general a synopsis of Barrett's conference with the president and Davis himself.

"I think you know why that's not acceptable, Agent Barrett." The calm certainty of the general's voice sent echoes of Sam's running through Barrett's mind. She'd bearded him in his office at the outset of their collaboration and accused him of complicity in the many rogue operations the SGC had thwarted or been dragged into. He had to repair the General's NID-are-scum attitude before he could do anything to help the search. Hammond was perfectly capable of putting Malcolm under house arrest here in the mountain and giving him wild geese to chase for the duration.

"General Hammond, let me state for the record that the abduction of Major Carter was in no way an authorized operation." Barrett's serious gray gaze locked with Hammond's shrewd summer-sky-blue eyes as he tried to put all the sincerity his soul could muster behind that statement. The two men leaning forward in their chairs stared each other down for a long, silent second before Hammond gave a slight, accepting nod. Barrett breathed a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been holding in and let his face relax back into his usual professional inscrutability. "For what it's worth, I'm just as determined to be a part of this investigation as you are. Major Carter was a great help in taking down the Committee and the legitimate NID knows just how much we owe her. I hope we find her safe and soon."

Hammond leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly in a watchful posture. Barrett knew better than to think the officer was convinced, but he was at least willing to listen. The agent knew of the past conflict between the NID and the SGC and had expected to have to do much more to get even neutral cooperation out of Sam's colleagues.

Barrett leaned towards Hammond with his weight balanced on his right forearm as he turned to face the older man. The intensity of the agent's purpose radiated out through his posture. "I have been tasked with identifying and eliminating all traces of corruption within the NID. That includes rogue groups like the one that abducted Major Carter. Two considerations you may not be aware of, and the reasons I didn't want the SGC involved, are the Herculean scope of that task _and_ its delicacy." Barrett smothered a frustrated frown and kept his freckled choirboy face smooth as he faced Sam's CO. Presidential order or not, wary acceptance or not, George Hammond could make co-operation in this investigation a hellishly difficult task if Malcolm didn't convince him of the wisdom of this officially sponsored compromise.

"The unauthorized elements in the NID had and most likely still have spies within every important classified project under government review, including the SGC." Barrett could tell that this wasn't news to George Hammond, not even the confirmation that there were probably rogue NID operatives still inside his mountain. What neither man said, tactfully, was that there were undoubtedly _authorized_ NID agents in these classified projects as well. "The Committee was just the head of the monster. So far we've been able to unbury their acquisitions and accounts to date, but my mandate isn't just to untangle their past crimes. I have to pursue the corruption to its roots. There are still ranks and ranks of contacts within Area 51 and other projects who had been supplying the Committee with classified information. They now need another buyer. We have limited time and leverage before those pipelines open up again. Shutting down the leaks at their source has been my primary objective since the sting operation."

"I grant that you have an important job, Agent Barrett. What I haven't heard is a reason your work should take priority over my command recovering our missing officer." Hammond stared directly at Barrett with a look the agent hadn't seen since Catholic school. In another minute, he was sure, the intense bald man was going to whip out a ruler and whap Malcolm's knuckles.

"Sir, with all due respect, it's a lose-lose situation. If your people went in and found nothing about the rogue group holding Major Carter they'd still be putting the wind up already secretive and experienced conspirators, making it harder for my guys to track them down." Malcolm couldn't prevent his intense sincerity from bleeding through his dispassionate professional mask. No matter how calm and collected the agent tried to appear in most circumstances, he knew his honest emotion would carry more weight with General Hammond than the gravest professional stoicism. "By the same token, any headway they make into actually backtracking the people responsible would just cause those individuals to hide their tracks better. The more leads you'd have to pursue to get to Major Carter's abductors, the harder you'd make it to find her using the people and connections I already have investigating those conspirators. The more noise your people make, successful or not, the worse it is for my investigation into all aspects of corruption. I lose some of my best assets either way and we get no closer to finding Major Carter. If you let the SGC get involved with the concrete part of this investigation before we have good intel, it would be a disaster for us both."

Hammond's jaw firmed as his blue eyes got very cold. "You understand, Agent Barrett, that recovering Major Carter is the top priority of everyone here at the SGC." Although phrased as a question, it was clearly an 'or else' statement he'd best get behind. But the general wasn't finished. "I hope your investigation is successful but, as you say, it's an ongoing task that will take you some time. We don't have that kind of time to spend. Now, my people are experienced and discreet. I find it hard to imagine that their questions would make the rogue groups any more suspicious than they must be already. And in all honesty, keeping us out of the investigation strikes me as a perfect way to hide anything you'd like to keep to yourself. Regardless of the purity of your motives." That steel-voiced politeness did not, and was probably not intended to, hide his suspicion of Barrett's best intentions.

Barrett swallowed his instinctive protest of innocence and recalled his earlier persuasion of the president. "I know you're not happy about this situation. Neither am I. But Major Carter was instrumental to me making even this much progress. I know you can make this harder for me without violating the letter of your orders. Don't throw her contribution away by charging in without me. I can help you. And, frankly, you need me."

George Hammond sat back in his chair and evaluated the man who had convinced the President of the United States to order him into the SGC and the most important operation they had going. Malcolm Barrett wasn't anything like Hammond had expected. Even though Major Carter's report on her time with Barrett had been positive and approving overall, the general still thought of the NID in terms of Colonels Kennedy, Simmons and Maybourne, the most recent representative to cross his path. This stoic-faced man with the intense voice was almost too sincere to be real. Was Barrett really zealous and _naïve_ enough to think that he could clean up an entire government agency?

Hammond sighed. He _did_ have his orders and those orders were ironclad. Whether or not Agent Barrett of the NID wanted SG-1 to stand down, the fact was that Barrett was here on their turf to be a part of the _SGC's_ mission to bring home Major Carter. And there was no way in hell George Hammond was going to look Samantha Carter's father in the eye and explain that their mortal bureaucratic enemy was taking over the rescue effort. So George's remaining concern was how deeply he wanted to let Barrett be involved in the search and how much he trusted the information the NID agent brought to the table. He let Barrett continue in a more professional vein as he contemplated his options.

"I understand why you want your people to be involved in the search and I have no problem with their _assistance_. But I have a network of 'Untouchables' who are already operating within these rogue groups much like Colonel O'Neill did when Colonel Maybourne was sponsoring the second offworld operation."

The corner gave another odd noise that drew their eyes to it, but there was still nothing visible beyond the metal spiral staircase. Hammond didn't seem too concerned, and Barrett's schematic showed that the Control Room for the Stargate was linked directly to this room via that staircase. Maybe those noises were the normal operating sounds of the 'gate computer and its technicians. Of course, the general's eyes were drawn there as inexorably as Barrett's were, which made the agent's spidey sense tingle just a little. He ignored it to revisit his argument.

"Your officer is being held by a group of mercenaries my organization trained and financed before they went off the reservation. Those operatives took NID property from one of our shadow companies to kidnap Major Carter, and were probably paid with funds skimmed off of our budget. Right now, this cell has gone rogue and it's my job to track them down. You want to find these agents to save Major Carter's life, but you need my help to find them so we _can_ save Major Carter's life. Our goals are the same as far as the search is concerned."

"The most important thing to consider in this investigation beyond the safe recovery of Major Carter is rooting out and removing the men and women who are selling information that the SGC and others have worked so hard to obtain or protect. Somebody told those rogue agents that Major Carter was going on vacation and when and where. Somebody commissioned this kidnapping and paid for it. Somebody literally snatched her off her feet. All those somebodies are people I need to find and bring down. I wanted my team, which was already involved in clandestine surveillance and monitoring, to push for information on the major's location as a part of their ongoing operations."

"That's not acceptable, Agent Barrett. I want Major Carter back in this facility and I want her back now – not in a few months when your people get around to mentioning her! If that's your idea of cooperation…" Hammond's implacable demands hung over the conference table as Barrett shook his head vigorously.

"No, General Hammond, I know that's not what we need to do. In an ideal world, our investigations would never link and we wouldn't have to prioritize two goals that are so important to each of us. Actually, in a perfect world we wouldn't have this situation to investigate." Barrett's grim, ironic lip-twitch of black humor died as he watched the general's immobile expression. He sighed silently and slid into a more appropriately solemn expression. "Even given the circumstances, your goal and mine are identical up to a certain point. I have to find the people who have her before I can find out why they did this and what they'll do next. After that, I don't have the luxury of undivided focus."

Barrett and Hammond locked gazes and neither gave way before the NID agent continued, "The President has ordered me to cooperate and enhance your efforts and that's what I intend to do. I hope you can believe that."

The general leaned forward and braced his forearms on the table as he kept up the staring contest with Barrett. "Since the President has already issued his orders in this matter, I don't suppose it makes much of a difference what I think. But…," and here the blue eyes squinted thoughtfully just over Barrett's shoulder in a gesture which dismissed their ocular game of chicken without conceding. "You're right, I _could_ make this difficult without overstepping my boundaries in the slightest. What you're here for is to give any and all aid you can to our efforts to locate Major Carter. To put her life and her safety first, just as all of us here do. That's my price for following the spirit of my orders. After she's found, we can negotiate."

Barrett let his breath out and tried very hard not to close his eyes in relief. It wasn't much for approval, but he knew that General Hammond had just decided not to make him persona non grata for however long he was imprisoned here in the mountain. More importantly, Hammond would not send armed SGC teams after suspected NID rogues. Everything else Malcolm could work around. "Thank you, General. The President thought that our best course of action was combining our information and sifting through it together so that we could use each other's sources to further the investigation."

Hammond's shrewd gaze passed steadily over Barrett's regulation haircut and solemn expression. "Just remember, Agent Barrett, my people want one thing and one thing only. To find and retrieve Major Carter. Since the President has issued orders to do it this way, I won't risk court martial for me or any of my people by overriding those orders. But I don't – _we_ don't care about your other goals any more than we have to. If it comes down to finding Major Carter two days earlier or setting your investigation back two years, they'll choose the first option. With my total support."

The general seemed to find something in Barrett's curt nod that let him nod in return and take a moment to let his warning sink into the room's tense atmosphere. His sudden, intense look at the staircase corner puzzled the NID agent, but the general continued before Barrett could spare a glance to his right.

"Now, what information do you have that will help us find Major Carter? We have the evidence the FBI collected here and it's undergoing analysis as we speak. We have the security logs from the van's motor pool and the video from the Grand Canyon. Major Carter's father called in some markers and got Homeland Security's downloaded satellite images of the area at the time we think the van left…"

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Downtime Day 14

Concurrent with above

SGC Level 27-28 spiral staircase

Espionage was a younger man's game and he could see why. Colonel Jonathan J. "Jack" O'Neill, fifty years young and leader of the premiere first contact team for Stargate Command, stretched his whole body to the limits of limberness as he cocked his head to the side and tried to lift his ear into the adjoining room. The Control Room was as quiet as it could be, with no unexpected activations of the 'gate or scheduled arrivals, but he could just barely hear his commanding officer meeting with the NID snake-weasel they'd invited under their very own rock. Right about now he'd give both his knees to have one of those Extendable Ears Cassie had told him about during her Harry Potter phase. He tried to hear over his own breathing as the voices got quieter.

Colonel O'Neill had been sedated in the infirmary when plans to accept Agent Barrett into the SGC for the duration of the investigation were made. He had wondered idly in the few hours he'd been conscious and aware of Barrett's impending arrival if that had been a coincidence or not. Yeah, the guy had a presidential letter of authorization alright, but did the SGC really need the help of lying, cheating, kidnapping spooks to find one of their own? Jack thought not. He had ordered the base security force to alert him when the NID agent arrived, which was well within his right as 2IC of the SGC. That cavity search request might have been a little out of line, but it was more likely to get him a phone call than the simple request for information about Barrett's arrival.

Unfortunately, the lieutenant escorting Barrett from the surface was no rookie and knew better than to take O'Neill's order seriously, so that squirrelly sack of jet lag could be concealing any number of surveillance devices on his person even now. It was only right that Jack know what was said in case it ended up on tape in some lair in Washington, right? Of course right. And that was what he planned to say if General Hammond caught him sneaking around on the staircase. Which he hoped wouldn't happen as he pitched upward at an even more precarious angle.

Jonas Quinn was getting better and better at fitting in on this alien planet, despite Major Carter's concerns about his 'weirdness'. He could explain baseball and basketball as well as any non-fanatic native and he even tried to work up some enthusiasm for his team leader's beloved hockey. The Kelownan's semi-legendary culinary explorations had ceased with the disappearance of the one team member willing and able to take him to eat off base, but he was getting a handle on the food, too. However, there were some Earth pursuits that Jonas just couldn't _get_ no matter how much they were explained. Headbanging, for one. Synchronized swimming, for another. And he thought that whatever Colonel O'Neill was doing would have to be added to that list.

Jonas stood quietly in the darkened Control Room watching his CO on the metal stairs. He'd been having some odd moments of disconnectedness since he awoke in the infirmary earlier today. Maybe this was just a worry-induced figment of his imagination. He cocked his head to the side and stared up for several seconds. Then he cocked his head to the other side and stared again. Finally, he crept up just below the colonel's position on the stairs and imitated the other man's posture. After a few puzzled minutes he tapped his CO's shoulder and asked, "What are you doing?"

Colonel O'Neill yelped in shock and spun around to face the stealthy alien who had made him jump. He slapped a hand over Jonas' mouth and glared. The little sneak had almost given it all away! He was willing to sacrifice a little dignity for an advantage, but that only worked if the advantage - secrecy - remained.

"Don't do that!" O'Neill hissed. "Can't you see I'm trying to listen here?"

Jonas' brows came down in puzzlement and the colonel sighed as he removed his hand.

"Hammond's meeting with that scuzzbucket right now and I'm trying to figure out what his nefarious plan is." O'Neill's angry whisper barely carried beyond his companion's ear.

"Wait. General Hammond has a nefarious plan?" Jonas blinked in disbelief. He knew some confusion was wandering around his head, searching for a home, but this defied credulity.

"Yeah, Hammond." O'Neill rolled his eyes and gripped the Kelownan's arm to steady himself on the narrow stair. His normally Daniel-and-Carter-brilliant teammate must have had stupid juice for breakfast. "No, Jonas! What _Barrett's_ plan is!"

"What makes you think he has a nefarious plan?" Jonas whispered back.

"He's NID, Jonas! They _always_ have an ulterior motive." O'Neill rolled his eyes and grudgingly made room for his teammate on the step below the one he'd reclaimed. A nasty cocktail of controlled fear and suppressed guilt made his patented sarcasm sharper and less comradely than usual, even with his least trusted team member. "Hel-lo! They're the bad guys!"

Jonas gave a slightly worried nod and imitated Jack's position on the stairs. Colonel O'Neill chose to believe that the young man was concerned with the NID's agenda rather than his CO's sanity.

They listened avidly for several minutes.

Jack had just managed to mostly stifle his reaction to the agent's mention of his least favorite covert op – during his tenure at the SGC, anyway – when he jumped and spun around in shock _again_. His only consolation was that Jonas 'eep'ed like a little girl while he managed to keep quiet this time.

"I asked what you were doing, ColonelO'Neill. JonasQuinn?" Teal'c's bass carried farther than Jonas' earlier inquiry, but neither of the men addressed was foolhardy enough to try to physically shut his mouth. The Jaffa's raised brow and arms crossed stoutly across his chest told them he was less than pleased. And if they couldn't have guessed from his use of O'Neill's title alone, then they didn't deserve the title of teammate.

"We're gathering intel on Agent Barrett," Jonas explained in a hiss. "He's meeting with General Hammond and we're trying to figure out what his ulterior motive is."

Teal'c stared at his teammates in displeasure. Surveillance was a necessary tactic in war, but it was never practiced against one's faithful commander. Eavesdropping on GeneralHammond seemed shameful in the extreme. "A warrior should trust his leader to remain true to their purpose. Jaffa do not condone listening at the door of anyone's tent. It is a dishonorable pastime."

"Keep it down, willya? I think they're about done." Jack had quickly put his fright behind him and returned to his listening post. His sudden manic burst of disreputable behavior recalled his obstinate determination to clear Daniel's name while the archeologist was dying of radiation poisoning and his insistence on returning SG-1 to operational status just after Daniel's ascension. O'Neill preferred to ignore the devastating circumstances fueling his emotional turmoil by channeling those 'unsoldierly' emotions into enthusiasm for whatever means were necessary to achieve his goal. Teal'c recognized this coping trait… but had little patience for his battle-brother's continued antics.

Jonas saw Teal'c's nostrils flaring and subtly squeezed his way out from between the angry Jaffa and the oblivious Tau'ri. His teammates had had some strange, subtle tension brewing between them these last few days and he knew better than to offer to straighten it out. The colonel seemed to be riding a wave of jittery determination that crashed ominously against the extra-stoic bulwark of Teal'c's worried displeasure. He looked around for something to distract them. Luckily, he found it.

"General Carter! Did you get that satellite data your friend was pulling for you?" The young Kelownan's overly hearty voice startled O'Neill into his third leap as Teal'c turned slowly around to face the newcomer.

"Yeah, kid, and it looks good for us. I'll tell everybody at once when the meeting starts." Jacob smiled thinly and gestured up towards the crouching colonel. "Do I even want to know?"

"You do not," Teal'c said firmly as he ascended into the briefing room.

"Dammit, T! What if they aren't done yet!" Jack growled as he followed his large friend up the metal stairs.

"Uh, colonel? I think he would've heard them," Jonas offered as he joined the parade into the briefing room.

"No, not them specifically, Selmak," Jacob muttered aloud, hoping Jack caught it. "The Three Stooges are an old Earth comedy team. It's a Tau'ri thing, just go with it."

He silently endured his symbiote's mutters about stupid senses of humor and whistling in the dark. Selmak was still incredibly pissed off about the political wrangling they'd been subjected to by the Tok'ra High Council over the last few days. In particular, Councilor Thoran had deman… _strongly requested_ that they return immediately from the SGC to debrief to the High Council regarding their last mission. The SGC's urgent message requesting his presence several days ago had caught the general and his symbiote just as they came through the 'gate from their last mission and they'd literally turned right back around and 'gated out without talking to any Tok'ra. The councilors were… less than pleased with that choice.

Although Selmak's one hundred and two ways to say 'up yours' without profanity were always fun to experience when they were directed at someone else, Jacob knew neither of them was as calm as they needed to be to benefit the investigation or endure the council's impatience. The longer they waited for news of Sam, the more agitated and afraid both of them became and the more each tried to distract each other. Selmak tended to bring two millennia worth of strategic analysis and political maneuvering to Jacob's attention, even if the two were just sitting at a conference table answering questions. Jacob's contribution tended more towards stubborn refusal to dwell on the worst possibilities… and telling really bad jokes.

He refrained from defending himself against his headmate's rude comments, but pointedly visualized all the things he'd done to move the search along. He'd been able to get some of his Tok'ra colleagues to look at the video of Sam's abduction and had brought it back with possible enhancements. And before he left Earth he'd gotten a chance to call some of his old pals from his General days and ask them to pull the satellite data for the Grand Canyon area for the day Sam was picked up. That should help trace the van and see where she was taken after it left the park.

As they mounted the stairs behind the rest of SG-1, Jacob sent waves of sympathetic calm to his agitated symbiote to prepare them for the upcoming briefing. He circled the hairpin turn and braced himself for the first view of the NID agent who was supposed to provide such an advantage in their got-to-be-successful attempt to find his daughter safe and well. And soon. All the players were here on the board and progress should start… now.

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Author's Notes:

Huge thanks to my sister and editrix and to technetium for her excellent comments. They really do make this much better. Also, I really do appreciate everyone who drops me a line and lets me know what they think. I don't always agree, but you do make me think. Thanks!

I'm currently ripping up the next few chapters and pasting them back together, hopefully in a leaner, sleeker form. I'd love to know what you guys think so far – I need the encouragement while I tear up everything I've been working on! So please REVIEW! I'd love to hear from you all.

Happy New-ish Year!


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